When I sleep
by ThreeHundredStarsAbove
Summary: War stands on England's doorstep: The final battle for Nottingham has begun. Will Guy of Gisborne be given a chance to redeem himself? Will everything end happily or... not so much? Mystery with a bit of romance. Canon/own ideas. Better summary inside.
1. Chapter 1: Lost

**Summary: Summer of the year 1196, England. Conflicts old and new fester in the heart of the kingdom. The famed Richard the Lionheart isn't there to settle the strife. Five outlaws led by Robin Hood have sworn to fight for and protect England from the evil Prince John and sheriff Vaisey. But this time they're joined by an unexpected ally, whose past casts a shadow of doubt on his future. War stands on Nottingham's doorstep: The final battle has begun.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters.**

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Ink black darkness enveloped him as Guy of Gisborne entered the Sherwood Forest.

He could barely see the outlines of the trees; he held out one hand, trying to feel his way through the thicket, while keeping the other on his sword's hilt.

He kept thinking about the day that ended a few hours ago; he seemed unable to gather his thoughts in the daylight, and so, almost every night, he found himself in the dark forest, not at all friendly but somehow familiar.

Pale, silver light penetrated the branches and led him further into the heart of Sherwood. The first time he'd wandered here, it was by accident after a bad row with the sheriff, not long after their return from the Holy Land. Guy clenched his teeth as he remembered his lord's words from that day.

_Useless. Pathetic. Weak._

He stopped as he came upon a small clearing, bathed in moonlight. He remembered. Remembered _everything_. Every little, painful word anyone has ever granted him – he'd kept that hidden from the world's eyes, locked away safely at the back of his mind.

As the years kept passing by, pain became bitterness, bitterness in turn became anger, and anger very quickly led to hatred. Hatred that drowned him over and over in its suffocating depth; hatred that burned him alive; hatred that made him lose all things that became precious to him. Made him lose Marian.

_Marian_.

The only person he ever loved, truly, madly, deeply. And yet... he managed to destroy her too.

Guy fell to his knees, grabbing handfuls of his dark, messy hair as if he wanted to pull the memory out of his head. He remembered with a painful precision how she smiled; how she laughed... he still felt her warmth on the tips of his gloved fingers... still saw her blood on his sword's blade.

God, how did it become like this? Why was everything in his life so wrong? Why did he become... and just _what_ was he?

His hands rested on the back of his head, as Guy tried to gather his thoughts again; to pull himself out of this dark trance.

He was a killer. A man not worthy of pity or emotion. He was a proud man, though he had nothing to be proud of. He was on the edge of usefulness, like the Sheriff had said. Guy hated himself even more for being a subject to a clearly evil man, a monster. Did that make him a monster too?

Then, as if he finally understood something, his face brightened; but it was only a deathly, terrifying glow that set both his eyes and heart afire.

It was a moment before he stood again, clutching the unsheathed broadsword in his hand, watching as the night sky reflected from the perfectly forged metal. A thin, fleeting smile appeared on his face; it now bore resemblance to a white marble carving more that human flesh.

'_A last favor to the world_' He thought bitterly. '_And no one would ever find me_'.

His skin was set burning by the moon's silver shine, as he raised his sword in front of him, pointing it to his chest. He wasn't afraid of physical pain; he only hoped to find forgiveness in the eyes of the world. He wanted freedom, he wanted eternity.

'_A last favor to the world_' he thought, and in one swift movement buried the sword in his chest.

A searing pain shot through his body, knocking him to the ground. He tried not to struggle, as dark waves crashed over him back and forth, and as life began to drain out of him.

'_To die, and be forgotten_'. He breathed heavily, feeling his heart beat slower; his gloved hands were now wet with blood that dripped from the deep wound.

He lay still in the heart of Sherwood, waiting, wanting for death to come.

Guy of Gisborne closed his eyes.

He saw a tall figure clothed in darkness. Its hands were held out, as if inviting. The space around it was filled with a ghostly, green light that danced and flickered as if it was made of pure fire, though it gave no warmth. Guy reached out his hand, finding that pain has left his body, leaving only a cold darkness; falling all around him like a suffocating cloak.

Then, suddenly the figure took a step back, withdrawing its hand. There was a small breath of wind and then the gloom started to clear. Excruciating pain shook his body from the inside and he looked away, trying not to scream. When he was able to look back up, the figure was gone, along with its ghostly aura.

'_To die_' he heard voices echoing all around him. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn't; It was as if he was blind. '_To die is not of your choice_' they sang, and Guy felt yet another wave of blinding pain crash over him. He couldn't cry out, he could barely breathe and wasn't able to move at all.

'_To die_' the voices mocked '_Is to start living anew_'.

And then at once it was all gone. The pain, the voices, it was all gone.

Guy felt nothingness above and below; nothingness filled every part of his being.

_Death._

And then he breathed again.


	2. Chapter 2: The One Who Forgives

Murmurs. Murmurs in the utter darkness. He could see nothing, though he felt figures moving around him; surrounding him in a suffocating circle; brushing against him with their strong wings and silky skin. Their watchful eyes were fixed upon him. Every time he moved forward, it was like walking through a sandstorm, a strange power pushed him ever back not allowing him to go on. Guy knew he needed to get away from these creatures and fear swelled deep within him, clawing mercilessly at the remains of hope. He suddenly became aware of where he was – it was a cold, murky valley, and somehow he had to get higher, out of the dreadful depth for he knew there would be light there. He gathered his strength and will, fighting the terrible, overwhelming force as if his life depended on it. Truly, it did.

Suddenly he was flung back, as if stricken by an invisible hand. He fell to the ground and felt, rather than saw the monstrous creatures moving towards him. Before he could try to defend himself, Guy felt a sharp pain in his left side. And then he heard them again.

'_Come out of the evil valley and into the light'_

Voices, thousands of voices whispered softly, gently, as the pain began to spread like fire through his body. Was this... death?

'_By the power of The Highest King, I command you to rise from the darkness!'_

It was as if his blood was suddenly lit with cold, white flames, while in his side he still felt the heat of pain.

'_From darkest death, to brightest light... Rise now, and __**live**!'_

* * *

His lungs filled with cold, fresh air.

Guy never imagined it could be so sweet, and reveled in its taste. It smelled so much different from what he knew and yet familiar – pine trees, herbs and a harsh scent of smoke, wavering at the far side of his consciousness. Slowly, he began to wake.

He tried to take a deep breath but instantly regretted the attempt, as he met with a hellish burning inside his chest. He let out a small groan and lay still for a while before the pain dulled.

'_What is this place?'_ he thought, as more and more sensations from the outside world began pouring into his mind.

He could recognize the crackle of fire in the hearth, soft whimpers of the wind and... Quiet footsteps, very close to where he lay. Guy listened to them, as the person paced to and fro, followed by a small rustle of what he supposed to be a long gown.

'_Is this Nottingham?'_

His memory began working, not yet fully, but it did.

He remembered a dark night in the forest, cold, sharp pain and the feel of crimson blood trickling down his chest, spilling onto the ground. He remembered the frantic desire for death, desire for final freedom and forgiveness. Steel blade, sharp and unyielding, buried deep within his chest and then... a figure clothed in darkness. And voices, thousands of them, echoing, calling out from far above...

Was this death? Could it be? And if it were... was this heaven or hell? Or maybe something in between?

Guy felt the mattress shift a little, as someone sat on the edge of his bed, near his right side. A cool hand touched his forehead, gentle fingers moving the black, unkempt mane from his face. He opened his eyes and when he did, he could not believe what he saw.

Fire's flickering light shone upon a face so beautiful and radiant that for a moment Guy thought the person to be an angel, and himself to be at heaven's door.

When his eyes got used to the golden light that filled the room, he took notice of the fine features, a delicate smile that lit the dark, peaceful eyes, and a wave of bright, amber velvet, cascading down her arms and back.

Her smile widened when she saw him awaken, and look at her with a mixture of awe and amazement. Her hand moved to rest on his forehead for a moment, before she said quietly:

"You have a fever."

Guy could feel the fire burning inside his body, but this time it was a usual, earthly flame. Cool fingers slipped away, and he tried to capture them with his own, but found that he could not move without causing himself additional pain. He then made an attempt to sit up, but withdrew, feeling his muscles flex painfully beneath the burning skin. He inhaled sharply, hating the weakness.

The woman moved closer and began speaking to him quietly, her calm voice stilling Guy until his breaths became even once more.

"Better sleep and save your strength. You'll need it for later" She said, laying her small hand over his and looking at him with smiling eyes.

Slowly, exhaustion began to take over his senses and he gladly gave into it, falling into a fevered slumber.

Before he closed his eyes though, he managed to ask just above a whisper:

"Who... who are you?"

The dark-eyed woman smiled radiantly; it was the last thing Guy saw before the warm darkness closed over him.

"I am silence within the world. I am sight within the darkness. My name is Meredith, _The One Who Forgives."_

* * *

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. But I DO own Meredith :)_**


	3. Chapter 3: Hope is light

He was awakened by rays of sunlight seeping in through the open window. The fever had gone and he felt strangely peaceful, as if with it left all the faults of his past. Guy inhaled deeply, reveling in the fresh, morning air and refusing to open his eyes for a few more moments.

His thoughts circled around an odd dream he had last night; someone very much like an angel, sitting at his side, saying things he couldn't remember even though he tried very hard. She was... magnificent. That was the only word for it. So beautiful, so warm and close and yet... so far away, as if descending from an entirely different world. He remembered asking her name. It sounded melodious and suited her well. What was it? Marianne? Michelle? Margaret?

"No" he murmured, stretching slightly, as his mind began to wake.

"It was more like... _Merelin._"

"It's _Meredith_, and you pronounce it wrong."

His eyes shot open when he heard a female voice coming from behind him. He could see nothing but the inside of a wooden hut, quite simply furnished; the person stood beyond his sight, on the other end of the room. She sounded almost cheerful.

Unable to speak for a few moments and desperately wanting to see whether the woman from his dream (or was it really a dream?) was the same one who was now standing behind him, he turned his head upwards, as far as he could. He of course saw everything upside down, but he had to look anyway.

The sunlight bathed the inside of the hut in a golden gleam, making everything seem so... simple, yet charming. It was a small disappointment, for he expected to see beauty beyond reckoning, halls of white marble and all the imaginings of heaven he could think of. A small disappointment indeed.

Then his eyes came to rest on a slight, upside-down female figure, wearing a grey-blue dress that neither fitted her well, nor was a good example of craftsmanship in itself. When he noticed the fine, though a bit skinny features, dark-green eyes and below-the-waist amber hair, he could almost believe this was the very person he thought to be an angel not so long ago.

She saw him move and smiled lightly: Her eyes lit up as if two emerald flames were hidden inside them. There was something about this woman that reminded him of both heaven and earth, though Guy could not decide what it was.

"So you are..." he spoke with a voice hoarse from being silent for a long time "Are you the..." he couldn't seem to find the right words. But she understood nonetheless and her smile only widened.

"Yes I am. And no I'm not."

Guy's coal-black eyebrows knitted together. The explanation didn't explain anything.

"You may call me Meredith, as it is my name" offered she, and Guy saw her turn around, walk to the still upside-down table, take something from it and come back to her former place. She was holding a clay cup, quite clumsily crafted though still a cup. Its contents smelled like mint and spices Guy didn't recognize.

"And your name is Guy, Guy of Gisborne" she said, putting the cup down on a nearby stool. Again, he was lacking for words. How did she know? The woman – Meredith – seemed to read his mind as well as he could any book in the castle's library.

"Your infamous deeds would've reached even the deafest ears in Nottingham, you know" she said, laughing lightly, as she came to his side. Guy suddenly felt his old anger well up inside his chest at the disrespectful tone in which she addressed him. All of the astonishment her appearance caused was gone in an instant. He sat up, supporting himself on his bandaged arms and looked straight at her.

"You should address me as _Sir_ Guy of Gisborne. I will not tolerate..." he was interrupted by a sharp pang of pain in his left side. He clenched his teeth and let out a small hiss, striving not to appear too weak. He _was_ weak at the moment, and he knew it; but he also needed to show this woman _why_ he deserved his title.

A moment later he felt two small hands, one resting on his left arm, the other supporting his back and pushing him slightly down, back onto the pillows. He didn't have the strength to resist, though he managed to school his features into a firm expression, covering the previous grimace of pain.

"You shall have to try" she answered, her smile fading slightly.

"Though I don't think anyone will call you 'Sir' ever again..."

Their eyes met and Guy noticed something close to sorrow behind those green irises. He held her gaze.

"What do you mean?"

Meredith gave a small sigh, reached over his pillows for the clay cup that stood on a stool and offered it to him.

"You might want to drink this first" she said, helping him to sit up once more; this time he didn't struggle.

The cup contained a golden- green liquid that tasted both bittersweet and sour; when he drained its contents, he felt a pleasant wave of warmth take over him and the pain in his side began to dull.

Seeing his features relax, she took the cup from him and helped him lay carefully back on the bed. When he looked at her again a few moments later, trying to focus, she began telling her story.

As Guy listened, he thanked heavens for the golden liquid, for he couldn't have taken the news calmly if he didn't drink it before she started speaking.

Apparently, he'd been unconscious for five days, during which time Prince John had arrived in Nottingham with his escort, seeking Sheriff's council or financial support - she didn't know exactly. After three days' search, they decided Nottingham's Master at Arms must be dead and let the matter go, for no one was grieving for the fact that "the sadistic devil" (she quoted) had finally left the world of the living. They supposed it was the doing of Robin Hood and became even more grateful to him since. Yesterday, the Sheriff appointed some man called Carrey to be Guy's successor and to take over his manor at Locksley.

"People of Locksley are now wondering who is a worse master: you or William Carrey" Meredith said, reaching for a nearby chair. Guy couldn't help an unpleasant smile when he heard this.

"Don't you laugh about such matters!" she said in harsh tones "He's killing people when he doesn't get what he wants. They hate him, but are too terrified to oppose him".

"They get what they deserve" he answered without even a flicker of emotion.

Meredith looked at him with what probably should've been disgust, but appeared to be something of an entirely different kind. Her gaze met his for the second time and Guy was amazed at how many things can be read from eyes alone; sadness, hope, and even... compassion?

"Why are you like this?" She asked, and her emerald irises flared up.

"Why do you act like you're _evil_?"

She was met by silence. Guy remembered a very similar question from many months ago, asked by another person; in other circumstances... he was a great lord back then, a powerful man of substance and influence on the city of Nottingham. A man who believed - heart and soul - in a wonderful future with the woman he loved... Guy wondered whether he had some good left in him back then, or maybe earlier, when he was a young boy. Things were possible at that time, things could change. But after what happened in the Holy Land, there was no hope of a good life for him anymore. He lived because revenge drove him; he lived, wanting to die. There was no explanation or excuse for all the terrible things he's done.

"I _am_ evil" he whispered, lowering his gaze.

* * *

That Monday night, Meredith was returning from a weekly Market in Nottingham. It was a long way from the city to her hut, which was located on the far off, northern side of the Sherwood Forest and the road took a few hours' time to travel, especially after nightfall. Her only horse, Kael, plodded along as she had no heart to weigh him down with her person; he was already carrying bags of wheat and boxes packed with things she couldn't buy in the nearest village. She patted the animal's furry neck reassuringly, as they came upon a small gathering of rocks which Meredith remembered were only about a mile from her house. They were walking in almost complete darkness, but the woman knew the forest paths all too well to get lost even on the darkest of nights.

Suddenly, Meredith heard a small rustle of leaves. When she raised her head, she noticed a small clearing not so far ahead, bathed in silver moonlight. There was a darker shadow lurking there, just beyond the line of her sight, as if darkness has created a hollow place in the woods' depth. The moon's pale glow didn't touch it and strayed from it as far as it could. Again, she heard the rustle of leaves, a bit further this time. She looked at the trees' branches but there was no wind. Everything was still.

She quickly took Kael by his reins and stopped him, instinctively moving closer to the animal. Her gaze was locked to the glade; her heart pounding. She knew no living man could harm her while she was in Sherwood: woodland animals and trees she's been friends with for a long time and they trusted her. But Meredith also knew that Darkness, when roused from its sleep, could be very dangerous.

She had to stifle a gasp when she saw a figure, clad in black, entering the glade – when it turned, she saw it was a man, or at least someone who resembled one. He was tall and well-built: His long, raven hair fell over his brow, half-covering the pale, neglected features.

The man stood motionless for a few moments and then Meredith noticed a flash of moonlight reflecting from a silver blade.

'_What in St. John's name..._' she didn't finish the thought as she saw the long sword being buried in the man's chest, until the hilt touched his black coat. He stood for a few moments, his breathing loud and ragged and then he collapsed heavily onto the ground.

It was like a wake-up call for Meredith. This wasn't an evil creature; this was a man, a mortal... and someone soon to depart this world by the looks of it.

She let go of Kael's reins and – still shaking a bit – ran as quickly as she could down the small hill and into the clearing. She stumbled a few times, but still kept moving, wondering whether she would be of any help to the man. He seemed quite determined to take his own life... and the sword... it must've ran through his heart and it if did, there was nothing to be done – he'd be dead before she reaches him.

When she finally stepped into the moonlight-bathed glade, the man was barely breathing. Blood was pooling around his wound and dripping to the ground, its metallic scent filling the midnight air.

"Oh, this is not good" whispered Meredith, her face almost as white as the man's.

"Not good at all."

She took a steadying breath, trying not to notice the red liquid sinking into the ground and knelt next to the man, checking his artery for a pulse. She felt one, though it was becoming slower by the minute. There was only one thing she could do.

Meredith gripped the sword's hilt with one hand, keeping the other pressed firmly next to the wound and with one swift movement she pulled the mortal blade out of his body. She felt him contract with pain beneath her fingers and threw the sword away, into the dark.

"To die" she said, while ripping the hem of her dress and putting it to the wound to stop the bleeding "To die is not of your own choice".

Moon's pale light shone on the man's face, making it look even more ghostly than before. She checked the pulse again, while still keeping the material to his wound. He was rapidly fading.

"To die" she whispered with a trembling voice "Is to start living anew".

It was then that she felt a steady fire lit up inside her. It didn't come from her; it was something too powerful to ever be in her possession. She suddenly felt a strange peace and light filling her heart. There was no darkness anymore, only this _presence_. Presence of something beyond words, something great and eternal... presence of a _Someone_.

She didn't know when she started to speak the words. Meredith could only feel the flood of light around them, trembling, flowing... living.

"_Come out of the evil valley and into the light..._"

* * *

"No" said Meredith, eyes fixed on the far end of the room. Her smile faded, leaving her countenance serious, yet incredibly peaceful.

"Not evil"

Guy was now seeing a glimpse of what he experienced last night; the woman sitting before him truly had something in her which reminded him of heaven; a mark of light and eternity.

Meredith's eyes came to rest on his figure once more, green irises alight.

"You are _lost._"

With that she stood up and made for the door, closing it behind her with one swift motion, leaving Guy to his own, now terribly confused thoughts.

* * *

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters (but Meredith's my own creation). PS: Thank you for your great support! :)_**


	4. Chapter 4: Many thoughts

He was there again. In that awful place he hated to the core of his being. A room inside his mind, the place of continuing torture, with white, empty halls, ever echoing with the resentful words: killer, traitor, liar, devil...

Whenever he came here, he had to remember things that passed, _think_ about them... and dwell on what could never be changed or returned. Truth nearly always sounded awful, though some days he made himself listen to its voice, just to keep contact with the world outside the Sheriff's den which was always full of lies and deceit.

He hated his master and was close to hating the whole of Nottingham. Every stone seemed to be permeated with unpleasant memories; every man either a spy or an enemy. When people looked at him, the clad-in-power, mighty knight, Sheriff's right hand, the one whose hands were almost visibly dripping with blood of the innocent, they moved out of the way in both fear and hatred. And so, throughout the years the bad feelings rooted deeper into their minds – Guy was now a symbol - more or less - of evil and death itself. Only the Sheriff was feared more than him.

As he couldn't get the glory Hood was presented with so easily, almost effortlessly, he tried going in the other direction – using hatred rather than love. Not will, but force. Darkness instead of light. It killed him slowly, killed his soul every time he had to choose, every time he stood on the edge.

Guy had to live with himself, but it was punishment enough: the weight of all his crimes pulled him ever down into the dark abyss, though some events made him muse, made him _think _whether or not he was actually _evil_.

When he opened his eyes again, there they were; white halls of his inferno. He let himself roam around the spacious chambers; a lonely black figure, breathing the non-fragrant, unbearably still air.

"_May it be?"_ he asked aloud "_Could she be right?_"

By 'she' he meant Meredith, and the last words she spoke to him before departing.

"_Lost? Not... evil?_"

There was hope in these words. For those lost can yet be found, but evil ones just... stay that way forever. He wanted to be different, wanted to change his ways... but still didn't believe his mind would change. Not at thirty-four years of age.

Guy raised his eyes to the no-roof space a hundred feet over his head, brushing his fingers on the sickly white columns that supported the construction. Suddenly, no longer being able to stand the silence, he hit the stone with his bare fists, a low cry of frustration and anger escaping his throat.

"_Is there no end to this?!_" he yelled, hating the numbness in his body. He looked at his fingers, but no blood appeared; not even a single bruise.

"_What do you want?! I've already tried to change a thousand times, but to no avail!_"

The words were directed to no one particular, though Guy found it possible that if someone heard him now, it could only be The Almighty.

He rested his head on the cold marble, his breathing uneven and shallow. Even if he were capable of crying, tears would not fall in this infernal place. He could only imagine. Imagine the release of feelings, a flowing river of emotions and the sweet peace afterwards. Guy hadn't felt peace in many long years. At last, it was too much for him to carry.

"_Please_" he whispered through gritted teeth "_Do something, anything. Free me from this hell_" his body seemed to act without his will - in bare seconds he was on his knees. The great Guy of Gisborne, a strong but broken man; a man without hope. He didn't know whether he was pleading or begging, but it didn't matter at the moment.

His shattered soul began trembling in want of healing: In want of making it whole once again.

"_Free me from this evil mind... and from myself._"

There was silence. He breathed heavily, shutting his eyes tightly; trying not to see the ghostly white halls that surrounded him.

And then it came. A moment, a second, a flicker. _Change_.

He felt weakness intermingled with strength – no, not his; it was a far superior power, almost too overwhelming to bear. He didn't open his eyes, and yet saw a bright light radiating warmth and... Life. Marble columns trembled lightly and the air became as fresh and sweet as on a summer morning. Guy dared not lift his head, nor move even slightly. He could not believe it.

Something - if not _Someone_ - was approaching.

* * *

Meredith returned to the hut a few hours later, when the sun began to fall from the sky in a magnificent, orange gleam, setting the firmament on fire.

She'd been walking in the woods, gathering all herbs she could find: she came across several clusters of milfoil, valerian and sage, and on her way back also picked some green thyme and peppermint. A wide smile lightened up her features when she remembered the person who taught her all about healing and herbs; it's been such a long time since she'd last seen him.

When at last the small hut came into view, she slowed down, wanting to prolong the pleasure of an afternoon walk and dreading going back inside.

She remembered painfully well who he was; the shadowy Guy of Gisborne - feared and hated for his many, terrible crimes. Meredith could prepare medicine for his wounds and eventually nurse him back to health, but the mind that this broken body held inside was a dark mystery to her.

'_Only a few more days, and then he'll be on his way'_ she assured herself as she entered the hut.

Guy was fast asleep. His black mane scattered over the pillows, eyes she knew to be sky-blue tightly shut. She put the herbs on a nearby table and moved closer to the bed. As she studied his features, she discovered they no more had the previous savagery about them; he looked almost peaceful, almost...

'_...Handsome'_ she thought, touching his forehead lightly. Fortunately, the fever was gone.

She lifted the covers from his torso, and saw that the bandages wrapped around the terrible wound were soaked with bright red liquid. The muscles were torn in a few places; there was one punctured lung, three to four broken ribs, and possibly no internal bleeding. The sword he ran himself though with was a nasty piece of steel and would've definitely sliced his heart in half, if moved but an inch to the left.

When she first attended to his wounds, she was surprised he was still breathing; never in her life had she seen someone being literally snatched from death's grasp. She didn't know what happened the night she'd found him in the forest, but it exceeded her sense of logic and reason.

He was a strong man - very strong, judging by the way he was built - almost as if carved from marble by a great, ancient artist. He was also incredibly tall, and though she hasn't yet had the chance to see his full height, she was sure she'd need to lift her head very high if she wanted to talk to him. But even Guy wasn't powerful enough to defeat _death_.

Meredith gave a soft sigh, and wandered off to the other side of the hut, in order to prepare ointments to treat her patient's wounds, and medicine to soothe the pain that was going to kick in soon enough. She sang quietly to herself while she worked. It was a tune she remembered from her early years as a child, a remnant of her mother's loving care. She still remembered _home_ quite vividly.

She was so consumed with the memory, she didn't hear the rustle of bed sheets behind her.

* * *

Guy was awoken by a cool breath of wind, and shivered.

When he opened his eyes, he was met with a flood of golden light, filling every corner of the small hut, setting things in a wonderful glow. When his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he spotted a darker figure on the other side of the room. For a while he was content to just lay there, watching the woman bustle about and sing quietly; she had a wonderful, delicate voice, though he couldn't understand the words. The language was more melodious than English, and quite differed from French (he knew both very well). It reminded him of the sound of rivers and waterfalls, and of summer rain on the wild western plains.

Suddenly, he realized that his body wasn't as limp and lifeless as before; flexing his muscles didn't hurt as much and the fever had disappeared for good. He sat up carefully, but there was only a slight echo of pain in his left side, so he supported his weight and sat properly on the bed, back facing the wall.

'_Could it be the effect of what happened in the White Chamber?'_ he wondered, breathing in deeply. Something was different; he felt as if a great burden had fallen from his shoulders and heart, leaving him remarkably light and peaceful. He was full of thanks to whoever had taken the weight off him and was sure the woman now standing on the other side of the room had much to do with it. The unknown (or maybe forgotten?) feeling of gratitude felt wondrously good and so... so unlike his former self.

Guy stood up, a bit unsteady on his legs after five days of lying still and ignored the returning echo of pain in his side. He let go of the covers, letting them fall to the floor. He took a few more steps towards the woman and then stopped, supporting himself on the back of a chair, a few feet from the place where she was standing.

"Meredith..."

She nearly jumped, then spun around quickly. Her eyes widened with amazement, as she saw him standing straight and tall- only five days after he received what should've been a mortal wound. She was also well aware of the fact that he was only half- dressed, but before she could say anything, he spoke:

"You were gone for a long time."

The sunlight that filled the room with a golden glow made his features seem livelier than before; there was something in his eyes that surprised Meredith, something that wasn't there when she went out of the hut a few hours ago. _Change._

"I went- I went for a walk in the woods" she said, a little unsure of how to act. Now that he was able to stand, and maybe even wield a sword, would he hurt her? Guy of Gisborne was after all known for doing similar and worse things in the past. She felt the edge of a sharp knife lying on the table behind her and grasped it with her free hand, hiding it behind her back.

When he moved towards her, she clenched her fingers around the knife's handle, her thoughts oscillating between curiosity and dread. But then something unexpected happened, throwing her completely off guard.

"I want to... I want to _thank you_"

He looked at her with something that resembled a smile. A bit pale and crooked, but a smile nonetheless. His eyes lit up, the sky-blue irises suddenly more vivid. Meredith in turn stared at him in astonishment. '_Guy of Gisborne doesn't_ thank' she thought, wondering whether she had heard right '_Neither does he change in a matter of a few hours'_.

"Pardon?" was the only thing she said aloud.

"I'm thankful for all you've done for me" he repeated. "Whether I was close to death, I don't know. What I do know, is that somehow you helped bring me back. And for that I thank you" he tried to bow, but staggered and held tightly onto the chair.

When she saw the motion, Meredith let go of the knife and walked over to him, offering help. He towered over her as she had expected, but seemed neither proud nor haughty at the moment.

"You shouldn't have gotten up so fast..." she said quietly, taking his arm and trying to support his weight. He managed not to lean on her too much, but still found her presence very helpful.

She seated him back on the bed and brought all the ointments and herbs from the table. He was still looking at her intently and she tried to avoid his gaze. Every time their eyes met, she'd feel a desire to delve into that conflicted soul of his in search for answers. But they would come – she consoled herself – they would come soon enough, if the change she saw in him was to be a lasting one.

She changed the bandages, dipping them in the fragrant ointments and also checking if the stitches were still in place. Meredith saw a flicker of pain pass through the man's countenance, but he didn't utter a word.

After everything was done, he lay down again, breathing evenly. Herbal fragrance hung in the air, delicate and sweet and they both began to grow drowsy. She heard him say something under his breath and look at her from behind heavy eyelids; then she understood.

"You don't need to thank me" she said "I wish you well, and let's leave it at that."

He nodded, closing his eyes. She stood there for a few moments, making sure he's asleep and then turned around, wanting to go back to the herbs and medicine that lay on the table.

She was stopped by a soft, deep-throat groan. When she turned back, she saw that his eyes were back open and his right hand was holding onto the rim of her dress.

"I have one last request."

Meredith returned to his side, kneeling close to where his head rested. She smiled encouragingly.

"Would you tell me a bit about yourself?" he asked when their eyes finally met "It would be good to have something to dream about."

She blinked nervously '_He must be stupefied with the medicine'_.

"I don't think my story would interest you. There's nothing exceptional about it."

His eyes were fixed on her. "I would gladly listen to it. _Please._"

Another word the great Guy of Gisborne never used.

Meredith hesitated for a moment, before finally sitting down beside him and locking her fingers together. She looked through the window just above the bed, at the deep greenery surrounding the hut. The sun was setting and the shadows grew inside the heart of Sherwood. It reminded her of another forest, many years back – a forest that held her most beloved treasures and was never to release them again.

She began her tale and went on for a long while; the sun had set, the darkness swallowed the beautiful blue of the sky and bright stars shone above them. Guy listened, mesmerized by the story of the woman sitting at his side. It unfolded before him and he could draw every line, every single picture, as if he was seeing it with his own eyes. The tale seemed to live within the woman's heart and he began to feel it too – the truth, the joy, the pain.

_It was a story of_ _Meredith, the Beauty of Whitland_.

* * *

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters.**_


	5. Chapter 5: The Beauty of Whitland

**_Warning: This chapter mostly tells the story of Meredith - which is crucial to the whole plot, but involves very little of our beloved Guy. It's twice the size I intended it to be, but if you go through it, I promise you'll understand much more at the end of the story. _**

_**Disclaimer:** **I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. **_

* * *

Where the waves of the Celtic Sea meet green, fertile lands of Cymru, and where heroes are born - the kingdom of Walha, called _Wales_ by your kinsmen - there my tale begins.

On a western shore, between two great cities lay a small village of Whitland, by the river Taf. No more than two dozen houses and less than fifty people it contained; but many a queer story has happened there nonetheless.

One of those tells about a young blacksmith who fell in love with a girl from a nearby hamlet of Narberth, and in order to claim her as his wife had to pay five silver bracelets to her father, the respected - though terribly greedy - Garret of Narberth. The smith's name was Maelgad, and he was not a man of substance, nor did he have the possibility to purchase that amount of silver. But his love for the girl was so great, that for two whole years he worked in order to gather enough money to exchange for the silver bracelets. He never uttered a word of complaint and – day by day – his determination grew, strengthening him to become like tempered steel – and to love the fair lady even more.

When after two years of hard work the final day came, Maelgad laid in front of his future father-in-law not five but seven bracelets, all silver and all beautifully ornamented. He then said to the greedy man:

"_You've requested of me five pieces of silver, one for each member of your household – I now give you seven, for your daughter is worth more than all maidens of Cymru and their beauty can't be compared with hers. May this gift multiply and provide your house with future wealth_"

With that, he got the permission to marry Garret's daughter. The wedding lasted for nearly three days and both the people of Whitland and Narberth were invited. All female guests admired the beautiful bride and all men envied the smith's luck. The maiden was called Irwen, and was the daughter of Isolt of Kennel Wood (who was said to be a descendant of Welsh kings).

Maelgad and Irwen were happy together; he cherished her over everything he'd ever possessed and she was his support whenever bad times loomed ahead.

Not a year passed since their marriage took place, when their first child was born. Even though it was a girl, the whole family was filled with joy to know the house of Maelgad is beginning to grow in strength. The girl has been called "_The great lady_" in their tongue, which was inspired by a joke of their good friend, a merry monk named Bard. The monk took the education of Maelgad's firstborn upon himself, for – from the day she was born – he loved her as he would his own child.

Months and years were passing by, and the little girl grew in happiness and well-being amongst her peers, loved and cared for by all peoples of Whitland and Narberth. From the moment she saw the green woods beyond her house, she fell in love with all things that were far and mysterious. The same thing happened when she was first brought to the seashore. Since that day, her heart has been divided between the emerald shadows of _Dawel'Gwyn_ forest, and the magnificent waves of the Celtic Sea.

The girl sometimes snuck out of her house, and wandered alone wherever her eyes led her to. She'd later be found at the cliffs, or in the middle of the woods, but never had she received any harm from either sea or forest. No one could've stopped her from going away to unknown places, and none could bring her back if she didn't wish to return.

* * *

In the dim light of a dying sun, Guy could see Meredith's bright smile, as she remembered herself as a little girl from many years ago. He could almost see the young mischief that hid behind her green irises. He couldn't help but smile back, for the first time not caring how it would be received.

Meredith continued her story, the happiness visible in her features slowly fading as the tale unfolded.

* * *

In the winter of her fourth year, she and her household were met with a queer occurrence that would change the course of their lives forever.

Since late March Irwen's been pregnant with another child, and gave birth to it in the first week of the new year. Great was their joy when they saw it was a boy; and so, they named him Daned. Having a brother wasn't the best thing the young girl would've wished for, as it took the privilege of being an only child – the only one to love and care for. She was a little spoilt at times, but after a few months she came to love her little brother and cherished him more than her own life.

It was a cold, harsh winter and the snowstorms were raging over the usually peaceful land, making travels impossible. Maelgad and Irwen's family planned to visit and see their newborn in the first week, but could not manage to plough through the deep snow.

One night - only a few days after Daned was born - someone knocked on their door; another snowstorm was coming, the wind blew from the north, and no one was so foolish to travel in this weather, so all of them were surprised to hear the loud knock. When Maelgad opened the door, the merry monk Bard came in, holding a small bundle close to his chest. He gave it to the awestruck smith and said:

"Keep it safe. 'Tis the treasure that might someday save our nation. I'll come back soon and explain it all to you. Do not ask me for answers, for I have none at the moment. Farewell!"

He motioned towards the door, but none of the family members were conscious enough to stop him.

"His name is Howell" was the last thing he said before departing.

Maelgad looked at the bundle he held in his arms, and saw it was a tiny boy, not more than two months old. That night none went to sleep; they conversed about who might be the babe's parents, and why would the monk bring it to _them_ of all people. After a while they agreed that the boy will stay with them as long as needed. They called him Hael rather than Howell, which was too royal a name to use in a small community like theirs. Irwen claimed the boy to be a twin of Daned, born on the same day – and as no one saw either the birth or the newborn for the first week because of the snowstorms, they all believed her, and welcomed two new additions to the village of Whitland with open arms.

Almost a year had passed, until finally the monk returned, and explained all he knew to Maelgad and Irwen; though the girl didn't hear anything of the things being said. She was to be informed years later, and in different circumstances than anyone would've wished.

Three years passed since the birth of Daned and the coming of Hael, and their family was as happy as ever - if not wealthy or prosperous. The girl came to love both of her brothers, and spent most of her free time taking care after them and teaching her all she knew.

Nothing special happened till the eve of her seventh birthday. It was a warm October night and she snuck out just after breakfast, to once again take a trip to the heart of the forest which she never stopped loving. As she traversed the wild paths she encountered a woman - a foreigner - dressed in a beautiful, dark blue dress and wearing golden jewelry. She'd never seen someone so regal in features and posture in her entire life. As she stood, awestruck, the woman spoke motioning to the trees:

"_Four times will spring adorn this land before all is renewed with fire. _

_From the ashes shall hope be reborn; a love conceived by mortal pain. _

_Four springs, before the end is clear, and past to pieces broken._"

When the girl looked away for a second, the woman was gone, as if she'd never existed. Her words seemed to reverberate through the child's heart and she's never forgotten either them, or the mysterious lady. And though she didn't yet understand the meaning of the words, she was soon to discover the truth they conveyed.

Four years had passed and her eleventh birthday drew near. The girl repeated the words to herself so many times, she'd nearly forgotten their sense and stopped taking them seriously.

In December Maelgad had sent Hael to his brother Kendrick, for he wanted his son to learn how to wield a sword (Kendrick was a well-known swordsman). The girl was wandering about the woods as usual, singing and dancing on the snow, reveling in the beautiful winter weather.

But she didn't know watchful eyes were watching her and her family. She was blissfully unaware of what was to come far too soon. Then, one day...

* * *

Meredith's voice trembled and after saying "one day" she suddenly fell silent. Her eyes were fixed on the window frame, her gaze focused and full of suppressed emotion; not a single tear fell. Guy could see her pain – so much like his own he knew it to be.

He stretched out his hand, and placed it awkwardly over hers. It was surprisingly cold and he felt her fingers tremble lightly, but she didn't move away.

Meredith felt the warmth of his hand and was thankful for the small gesture; it both reassured and helped her return back to earth. She resumed the

story, her voice once again steady and melodious.

* * *

One day - it was the fifth of December – the girl was wandering the woods, when she heard a queer crackle coming from afar. When she raised her head, she saw a column of smoke rising above the leaf-deprived trees, and a strange orange glow on the far end of the forest. She felt a flicker of fear, but ran towards it, remembering that with each step she was nearing her family house.

She quickened her pace when she heard raised voices, multiplied by the cries of "Fire! Fire!", and soon saw golden flames enveloping a small, wooden house. _Her home_.

Someone shouted "They're still in there" and the girl's heart stopped for a moment. _Her family_.

Not able to move, she could only watch the hut being consumed by the raging fire, and a cloud of smoke and dust hovering above the roof, floating into the pale blue sky. _Her life_.

Then, something snapped inside of her. She sprang from the place she was before standing in, and ran towards the flaming house, not caring if she'd be eaten alive by the merciless element. She didn't get to the door, not even close, for someone caught her and pulled her away. She'd fought against the person and screamed until her throat burned, yet he didn't let go of her.

It was over in less than ten minutes, which seemed to stretch out into eternity for the little girl. The fire was finally quenched, but there was no chance that someone had gotten out alive. Everything was destroyed in less than an hour, and her life leveled with the ground. Tears fell in a never-ending river, and Brother Bard – for he was the one who caught her – didn't even try to console her. The grief was still too new, too fresh for the terrified child.

All the tears she could utter were spilled over her lost family, and after the well inside her soul was empty, she wouldn't cry anymore. She wouldn't open her heart for many years since that day.

The monk arranged a place for her in the Talley Abbey, about thirty miles north of Whitland. He promised to stay with her until all things for the funeral would be arranged and to be present as long as she'd need him.

The catastrophe wasn't a case of a single house being burned down; four others were set afire and utterly destroyed, two more caught fire from them and were quite badly damaged. Seven people - including the girl's family - were killed. Villagers could not understand, and would not understand for many years to come why the accident occurred.

The funeral took place in the local church and four victims were buried in its close proximity; Brother Bard, however, wished for Maelgad, Irwen and Daned to be buried in the woods, near a small chapel about a mile from the church grounds. It was also a consecrated piece of land and the girl found it appropriate to say goodbye to her family in a place she deeply loved. And so, from that day on the forest of _Dawel'Gwyn_ held her three most precious treasures and was to hold them forever in its green wilderness.

What surprised everybody was the fact that neither Maelgad's brother Kendrick, nor his second son were present. Even the wise monk could say nothing about the matter.

Soon after the tragedy she was presented with the name 'Beauty of Whitland'. She was called that by one of the elders, who, seeing her stand strong and help the families of those who had perished, said:

"Let all of England and Ireland see: 'Tis the beauty of Cymru - it lies in our strength and shall never be forsaken."

And so the name stayed with her, and was remembered in her homeland long after she departed.

The girl said farewell to all people of Whitland and Narberth and traveled to the Abbey with Brother Bard as was planned. She stayed there for a month, mourning for her family and wondering what sort of life awaits her. At the time she would've gladly joined the convent because of her dark sorrow, but deep down she knew she'd never be happy there. And so did the monk. That is why he arranged a new place for her, a place he believed to be a better environment for a young girl than the cold rooms of the monastery.

After a moth spent in the Abbey, Brother Bard and the little girl set off north, crossing the boundaries of the Welsh land; they entered the kingdom of England, the powerful and feared country.

After some days – I do not remember how long they travelled – the two arrived at Nottingham. It was then, that the wise monk told the girl everything about her "brother" Hael, and about her uncle whom she would be staying with form then on, and who lived close to the northern city. About Hael – or rather Howell – I cannot tell you more, for I am bound by a promise of secrecy. It will all be revealed in due time, I am sure.

As for the uncle, he was the girl's mother - Irwen's - brother, and his name was Rodric. He came to England many years ago and married an English woman from Nottingham. They had one child, a girl which the little orphan came to love and care for over the ten years spent at her uncle's house. They were good to her, though she had to work hard to earn their love. Brother Bard visited her often at first, bringing news of her homeland which she missed and yearned for dearly. The last time she saw him was well over two years ago; he might've been captured at the borders, or – God forbid – killed, and she wouldn't have known about it.

When she was twenty-one, and after two engagements - both ended with pretenders being killed, one hanged, and the other killed in a bar fight - she decided she would no longer live with her family, and left her uncle's house, wishing to go back to Wales. She was stopped by a young physician form Locksley – Silverneedle they called him – who offered her a position as his assistant, for he knew she was good with herbs and preparing medicine. She took the offer gladly, hoping to start her life anew, but as winter came, something happened that made her change her decision.

* * *

Meredith cleared her throat, and Guy noticed a quick glance she gave him before resuming the story.

* * *

A new lord arrived at the village of Locksley. She knew that the new Sheriff had ordered all female herbalists to be hanged and so she tried to seek refuge in the forest of Sherwood.

As she wandered the woods, alone, pondering on the decision to take what money she had and return back to Wales, she came upon a small clearing near which flowed a cold creek. She followed it and after a while found a small, half-ruined hut, with a collapsed roof but a strong, solid foundation. Then it occurred to her that she might, for a time, stay in Sherwood, if, of course, she could somehow rebuild the hut.

As it happened, when she asked sir Silverneedle, and two of her other friends for help, in a month they restored the hut to its former shape and even made a fireplace, so that she wouldn't be cold on the dark winter nights. She was also presented with a horse, a good-hearted stallion which she named Kael.

The one and only thing she has taken from the ruins of her house was a small, white stone, which she put into the renewed foundation of her hut so that it would remind her of her homeland. She never stopped loving the forest, and though Sherwood has been a gracious home, she still misses the great kingdom of trees, the _Dawel'Gwyn_. She shall never forget Cymru.

* * *

With that, the story ended. Meredith felt as if she was waking up from a long-forgotten dream, which was truly a memory. She looked outside and saw the night had come; the moon was looming high upon the dark firmament.

She heard a small, satisfied sigh, and noticed Guy had fallen asleep. Meredith smiled to herself and then stood up, closing the window above his bed. She straightened the blanket over his sleeping form and sat back down, watching him breathe steadily, so peaceful in slumber. She wanted to get up – but then she changed her mind, bent down and placed a feather-light kiss on his forehead. It was the only way she could ever thank him for what he did.

And what _did_ he do?

Meredith stood up with a sigh and went off to the other side of the hut, to her own bed.

'_Well..._ ' she thought, while undressing '_Thanks to him, I've told my story, my _whole_ story for the first_ _time since I can remember.'_

She slipped under the covers and slowly let herself relax.

'_It's mighty good to shove that burden off your heart. Thank you, whatever you did.'_ she thought, before closing her eyes.

_Thank you._

* * *

_**A/N:** _**Cymru_ is another name for Wales, and so is _Walha_; _Dawel'Gwyn_ means 'silent white' in Welsh._**


	6. Chapter 6: Difference

He had not dreamt at all that night. Not in a long while did he have such a peaceful sleep, without ghosts of the past calling out to him, dragging him down into the abyss. His mind has been put to rest for the first time in many years.

The sun had already risen and travelled a few steps into the clear blue sky, when he finally woke up.

Again it was a bright, warm morning and all things seemed to move about, contentedly doing their daily business. The woods were vibrant with life -something Guy had never noticed before. Sherwood Forest was, after all, said to be a dark and fearful place, a great opponent to all who trespassed its borders; the mention of its vivid colors was easily forgotten by the people of Nottingham. They both loved and feared the woods, making it a sort of a sacred place - the domain of all things that were unknown and mysterious.

Guy lay still with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds coming from all around him, from near and from far, absorbing the simple magnificence of the lively kingdom.

'_If one could only stay here forever'_ he thought, half of his mind still captured by the woodland music.

'_It wouldn't matter if I was dead to the world or what my life was like... I could be living all alone in Sherwood_-' something inside him suddenly cut off the sentence, and his eyes shot open. _Not_ alone.

'_Hood'_ the intense light dazzled his eyes for a second '_How could I have forgotten?'_

His sworn enemy dwelt among these trees, and - as many people had said - his lair lay in the very heart of the forest.

Guy felt his head spin: His thoughts raced, suddenly freed from the fetters of sleep.

He was too close and too... weak – it pained him greatly to even think the word – to fight Hood yet, and the woods surely would not welcome a blood-tainted killer, an enemy of all living things. It was a matter of time before the outlaws found out he was still alive, and – to top it all – barely a few steps away from their camp. The former lord of Locksley would not let such an opportunity slip between his fingers, Guy knew it too well.

_And her... _

Guy felt icy cold needles twisting in his left side. He was unwillingly accustomed to the feeling - since his early teens it was a constant companion wherever his path led him. The feeling of _betrayal_.

'_She must be aware of the legendary Robin Hood'_ he thought '_And living so close to his lair without_ _any harm, she must be either one of his gang or a spy'_.

It wasn't fear that made his heart beat faster. It wasn't fear that brought him to his feet. And it was not fear that drove his fevered thoughts to the idea of escape. It was pain and anger, the latter more timid than the last time he'd felt it. Yes, something has changed, but it was still in the process.

He stood firmly, looking about, as if searching for something; the hut was the size of his chamber in Nottingham if not smaller, though definitely more homey and convenient. The walls were made of simple, grey stones; the roof seemed to be placed a bit too low and the floor was surprisingly made of wood, not stone, many colorful hand-woven rugs covering it. He could see a small fireplace at the opposite end of the only room, and in the corner between it and another wall, there was a space separated from the rest of the hut with a bright curtain. On the other side of the fireplace there stood a table with two chairs, beyond which the supposed kitchen was placed.

He spotted his black shirt and jacket on one of the chairs (noticing that both the blood stain and the gash were gone) and quickly put it on, wincing a little as he felt his sore muscles stretch painfully.

But there was still no sign of his sword; No flash of steel caught his eye and he was beginning to grow impatient.

He suddenly remembered the tale from the previous night and the mention of there being a stable for Meredith's horse somewhere around the hut.

'_She must've hidden it in there'_ he thought, moving towards the door with determination, and yet keeping himself from staggering. The pain in his left side was still echoing through his body with cold, fierce waves, but he tried to ignore it. It will pass.

He found his knee-high boots beside the doorstep; he put those on as well, and caught the door's handle, praying for it to be open – he doubted he'd have enough strength to break it. It was indeed locked, but the construction was so light that with a few pulls he managed to yank it open.

The first thing he saw was a wall of trees, hundreds of them, and all looking exactly the same.

They were beeches and oak trees a hundred and fifty feet high; their branches were spread widely at the tops, making a sort of a leafy canopy, which the sunbeams shone through here and there, painting the fallen leaves in a copper-gold shade. This was the very heart of Sherwood.

Guy stood for a moment, mesmerized, before he suddenly realized that –however glorious the forest may be – he needed to get to Nottingham and sort things out. There was a whole world, a dark, grey world, waiting for him there, outside of the mysterious woods. His life... he couldn't lose that, for it was the only thing he had left. He thought it impossible to just leave the Sheriff, however much he hated him.

But... he wasn't so sure anymore. Everyone in Nottingham thought he was dead, the Sheriff had appointed another lord for Locksley and Isabella... No – he thought to himself sternly – I must leave _now_.

There was no time to waste over a mere sword – he had to get out of Sherwood before it put a spell on him, binding him to stay, luring him into its rich, green depth.

With his gaze fixed upon a cluster of rocks on a nearby hill, mind almost – and for that 'almost' he hated himself even more – almost resolute, he moved towards the thicket looming ahead.

He hasn't gone far when a recent memory found its way before his eyes: Two emeralds burning with sunlight – yes, there was another thing binding him to this place.

"That's _mighty_ polite to leave without even thanking your host"

Guy turned abruptly, and saw her leaning against a tall oak tree, not so far to his left. Her hair, brightened with the morning light was the shade of molten gold and cascaded down her arms and back in delicate waves. She wore the same dress as last night, though something about her was different. It might've been his imagination, but he saw there was a warmer tinge of emotion hiding behind her eyes.

Has she been standing there the whole time? The thought roused him from the state of amazement, bringing him from the land of thought and back to earth.

"You" This wasn't a question: neither was it meant to be an insult. This was merely a statement, but the woman felt an underlying tension in his tone.

"You are one of _them._"

Meredith frowned lightly at that.

"I don't know of whom you speak..."

"The outlaws!" he snarled, nearing the place where she stood "Hood and his gang – you are part of his scheming; otherwise you would not have been living in the very heart of Sherwood so peacefully!"

Finally, he was regaining his former self. The hard, unyielding self he knew so well... and despised.

He stopped a few paces away from the tree she was leaning against, and observed as her expression changed a few times over, before he heard her reply:

"You know nothing of this forest" her tone was quiet, her gaze fixed on the treetops above their heads.

"Robin Hood isn't aware of my existence. His camp lies full_ miles_ away from here, and his gang never walks past the Rock Posts, from fear of what might dwell beyond them" Meredith lowered her eyes to the tall man standing before her, meeting his gaze. His grey-blue irises flared with anger, though she was sure it was only a shadow, a reflection of what he could be while in rage.

"I wished to help you, not do you harm."

Guy's brows drew together, forming a dark line over his eyes.

"Do you think I'm a _fool_?" he poured as much venom into these words as he could "There is _no_ reason on earth why someone would save my life" he added bitterly, as he slowly closed the distance between them.

"There is no way." He repeated, now standing mere inches away and holding her gaze.

What he saw in her eyes the next moment would've enraged him further – had it been any other person – but seeing it in _her_ eyes, made his anger disperse. It was _compassion_.

When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible and yet incredibly powerful:

"Your hurt and your pain will not keep" she whispered "I believe you are already a different person than you were before".

Guy could pray for anger; for rage and it wouldn't come. He stood there, motionless, facing the young woman, seeing her pay for evil with good.

Meredith took out a long dagger, which he recognized as his possession and offered it to him.

"I do not ask of you to stay, for your life is yours and yours only to govern" she said, barely above a whisper.

He laid his hands on the sheathed dagger, neither wishing to take it, nor to refuse.

"Why are you doing this?"

Meredith's eyes were like two pools of emerald waters and reflected the brightness of a strong soul hidden inside. At that moment he thought there truly was something otherworldly about her, something that made her passionately mysterious and filled her with a wondrous light.

She smiled at him. A faint shadow of a smile.

"You were saved. Not by my hand though, and not by ways I can understand. You've been given a chance, Lord Gisborne. It would've been a waste if you didn't take it."

They both heard a rustle of leaves up above, beyond a nearby hill and turned to see what had caused it. In seconds afterwards, there was a rumble of small rocks, and a faint voice coming from afar. Guy felt Meredith move beside him, and instinctively drew her closer behind him protectively.

Before any of them could think of escaping, a figure appeared at the top of the hill and Meredith gasped in surprise.

It was a woman, not more than nineteen, with a mane of unruly red hair falling over her face and big eyes. There was a peculiar resemblance between the woman standing on the hill and the one behind him, but Guy didn't have time to ponder on it as the newcomer ran towards them down the steep rise, calling out between exhausted breaths:

- He is dead, Meredith! _The Sheriff is dead_!

* * *

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters._**


	7. Chapter 7: A game of choices

„My lord is too kind."

The dark haired woman bowed, her hands trembling with excitement. Those hands now held the keys of Nottingham; with them lay the power over many lives, the lives that could easily be governed. She would rule with justice and love, unlike the former Sheriff and his master at arms; her _brother_. Isabella smiled: The two terrible usurpers she shall never see again.

She bowed to the Prince and resumed her seat at his left hand side. She heard a few people exclaim "Long live the sheriff! Long live Prince John!" as they raised their wine goblets. It was a small ceremony, but Isabella didn't mind: There would be enough feasting in a few days, when all the people are convinced she's the lady they've always wanted. She had so many things to alter around Nottingham, so many ideas how to purify the land from Vaisey's evil, that it would probably take months, if not years to let them all be established.

_Years._ It was a bittersweet thought, but she decided to save any further plans for after the Prince's departure. Instead, she leaned closer to him and whispered teasingly;

"_My king_... How can I thank you for all you've done?"

A pair of dark grey eyes looked at her with amusement.

"I will have your thanks in due time" he answered, his pointy teeth showing when he smiled "As for the moment, there is only one thing I desire; to forget about the mistakes I've been exposed to by the former sheriff. They were indeed countless and his death should prove... profitable I expect" he moved closer to Isabella, studying her features intently. She did not stir, even though the Prince's gaze sent shivers of fear down her spine.

"Tell me, Isabella" his eyes were fixed on her dark ones "Tell me, do you miss the former lord of this castle?"

Was this a trick? And if it was, how should she answer?

"No, my king, of course not" she said carefully, trying to conceal the fear she was afraid he could read from her countenance. Prince John smiled widely, almost disgustingly.

"And what about that brother of yours? He was, after all, family..."

It wasn't hard to answer, though when she did, Isabella wasn't sure whether she'd told the truth. She _did_ want her brother's death and yet, when she learned of his passing, it felt like losing a part of herself. The dark, painful part, but still... no, it wasn't sorrow, but _regret_. She regretted not being the one who dug the dagger into his cold heart. It was as simple as that. And yet Isabella felt as if she wasn't telling the whole truth.

"Not to me" she finally answered "My heart is filled with joy at the knowledge that he's gone at last."

Prince John held her gaze for a moment longer, before closing his eyes and laughing aloud. It was a chilling sound and Isabella let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

'_It's all a game_, _and I'm in the midst of it' _she thought bitterly.

When he looked at her again, there was pure amusement in his eyes. He raised her chin with three fingers, moving her face so close to his own, that she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. She fought the impulse to move away and smiled weakly at the Prince. She heard him say loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear:

"And that is why you were made sheriff, _precious girl_!"

He let her go and resumed laughing, but this time the scarce gathering joined him and the room was echoing with their voices for a long while.

Isabella sunk into her wooden seat, closing her eyes, trying to shut out the overwhelming tune.

_It's a game. _

_A cruel game, which you can't get out of._

_A game of choices_.

* * *

- He is dead, Meredith! _The Sheriff is dead_!

The red haired girl ran down the steep hill, nearing the place where Guy and Meredith stood. They had barely enough time to think before she was just a few feet away; it was then that she finally spotted Guy and stopped abruptly, fallen leaves still rustling about her feet. Her eyes became even bigger and her mouth fell open.

"_Meghan_" whispered Meredith, roused from her shock.

"Meghan!" she repeated, louder, coming from behind Guy and towards the startled girl, who was now pointing at the man, her eyes never leaving his face.

"You're- You're..." she stuttered, moving back and almost tripping over a fallen tree trunk "You're dead... You _should_ be dead!"

Meredith touched her arm lightly, feeling the girl tremble.

"He's... not... a ghost... is he?" she took a glance at Meredith and then placed her eyes back on Guy who was standing silently, trying to adjust to this new situation and understand what was happening. He probably felt as confused as the newcomer at the moment. And what was it that she said? The sheriff... _dead_? No, I couldn't be true...

"Are you a ghost?" it was a childish question, but the girl had all the rights to ask it. Guy forced himself to smile, in a bit crooked way. There was no getting any information out of this girl before she got all of their answers.

"No. Most definitely, I am not" he said, making a step forward, as if to assure her that he moved just as any human could.

"No! You - stay away!"

Then the red- head took a step backwards and immediately tripped over her long dress, falling to the ground. Meredith helped her stand up with a small sigh, and kept holding her hands for a while, before the trembling stopped. When the young girl spoke again, it was barely above a whisper;

"Don't let him come close. Don't let him... It's too terrifying" when she looked at him again, Guy saw pure terror in her eyes. They were the color of the sea, stirred at the moment and so unlike Meredith's - yet still there was a major resemblance between the two women.

"What you heard were rumors" said the older one in an even, soothing tone "There was not enough evidence produced and no corpse had been found. Meghan?"

The younger breathed unevenly, slowly adjusting her mind to the possibility presented to her.

"But... how in the world... why does everyone think that he's... that you're dead?" she asked weakly, turning to Guy for a moment and then back to meet Meredith's peaceful gaze. "And why are _you_ with him? Why is he _here_?" the last word was a loud whisper.

Guy saw an opportunity then, seeing that the girl had calmed down a little and stepped forward, slowly, not wanting to startle her.

"You have come here with the news of the Sheriff's death... do you know that for sure-"

He was interrupted by a loud crackle in the branches above them and they all turned their heads upwards, searching for the source of the noise. Strangely, there was no wind and no sound of birds anywhere near.

"We shouldn't discuss such matters out here" said Meredith, lowering her voice and pulling Meghan firmly with her down the rocky hill. The girl followed without any complaint and so did Guy, a moment later. The old senses returned – twenty years of constant training had done their job, and now he was listening intently for the smallest stir in the woods. None came, yet still there was something unnerving about the silent trees. Something _familiarly _unnerving. He didn't feel it earlier, but now... it was much alike a hidden predator and Guy didn't enjoy the feeling of being its prey.

"Sir Guy?" Meredith's voice was muffled by the stiff silence of the forest "We all need to talk. Please." the last word was quieter and he felt the tinge of fear underlying the even tone.

He turned away and walked past the line of tall trees, following Meredith, but he kept looking over his shoulder, half expecting for something to jump out of Sherwood's depth and attack them.

"What was it, cousin? Did you see it?" he heard Meghan whisper, as they neared the hut's door. Guy quickened his pace, coming close behind Meredith.

"_Cousin_?"

She only gave him a look saying 'Now is not the time to explain' and smiled reassuringly at the young girl.

"Don't worry Meg, there's nothing in Sherwood that could do us harm. Besides..." she turned to Guy, and he noticed the effort with which she made her voice seem casual "...We have a knight among us, and are, in some way, protected by him".

"A _black_ knight" murmured Meghan, opening the hut's door and disappearing inside. He didn't comment on that last remark, too occupied with his thoughts and the oppressive atmosphere of the forest around the small dwelling. He would defend them as best as he could, possibly taking pride from it, but he wasn't so sure as to _what_ he would have to fight if the need arose. There were no predators in these parts of England, except for wolves, but those he could handle without effort. It was the unknown, darker inhabitants of Sherwood that made him look back at the trees, cautiously studying every deeper shadow, every taller rock. The forest seemed disturbed and moving with anxiety.

Guy took a last glance at the trees and walked inside the hut with a troubled sigh.

"_This is going to be an interesting evening_" he thought, closing the door behind him.

* * *

A dark figure stood on one of the highest branches of an aging oak. It observed the small dwelling, as a thin ribbon of smoke began to rise from the stone chimney and into the clear sky. It was a good morning. Not for them, but for _her_... well, the matter should be resolved before the night rain comes, so there was nothing to worry about.

She stretched out along the branch, back to the tree trunk, folding her arms over her chest and letting the dark, emerald cloak fall loosely around her.

For goodness' sake: If she were to spend hours doing practically_ nothing_, she might as well sit comfortably!

* * *

_**Author note:** **I want to thank all of you so much for your support! I especially want to thank Marana, UKReader and maisaLin for being with the story from the beginning :)**_

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. _**


	8. Chapter 8: News and agreements

"That is _not _what I expected!"

Meredith was sitting on the table, swinging her legs and refusing to look at either Guy or Meg. She just finished telling the story of how it all came to be like this. The sun has rolled lower on the clear blue sky and clouds began to gather on the eastern horizon – it looked like it was going to rain before night falls.

"What did you expect, then?" asked Meredith with a sigh. Her cousin would not gain peace if they didn't let her express her feelings - she knew that well enough and so, she waited patiently. But the man sitting on the bed across the room didn't look so kind-hearted. His eyes watched Meg with clear, unreserved annoyance, as the girl kept walking back and forth inside the small hut.

"I... well, to tell the truth, I..."

"You thought I was into witchcraft, yes?" their eyes met when Meredith looked up at last. There was no accusation in her gaze, only sadness.

"That I summoned him from the dead?"

Meg looked away, suddenly speechless. A slight blush crept up her neck as she tried searching for words of either apology or explanation; Guy couldn't decide which one it was to be.

"I know what the people of Nottingham say about me" Meredith continued with an almost undetectable tinge of pain in her voice "But I _did_ not, _do_ not and _will _not have anything to do with these kinds of evil powers".

"_Any_ kinds of evil powers" she corrected herself, seeing Meg's eyes widen.

The girl stopped pacing the room. Her gaze fell upon Guy, who was sitting silently on the bed, back to the wall. She saw the tiredness in his weakened form, but there was something different, like a quiet composure in place of the former hostility. Meg felt confused more by what she saw with her own eyes, than by the almost impossible story told by her cousin. She was close to pitying him and the thought nearly made her sick.

"Then _how_?" she addressed Guy for the first time in a long while "How did you live through your own death?"

She was met with silence. He was looking at Meredith, as if wanting her to explain what he could not - and would not be able to. When no answer came, he shook his head with a low sigh. He was curious of what had happened that night, but knew no one in that room could provide him with the answers. Not now, not today, maybe not ever. And so, he said nothing.

Meredith was the one to break the silence:

"Meghan, you said before that the Sheriff... that he's _dead_" Guy felt the blood rush quicker in his veins. His attention was once more focused on the young girl standing a few feet away. Finally. He'd almost forgotten why she was even here.

Meg's eyes showed confusion for a second, before she understood.

"Oh, that... yes, he is dead. All of Nottingham is talking about it. He was killed last night."

"How?" Guy's voice sounded harsh, impatient "Was he poisoned? Strangled?"

"More like shot by an arrow. But there are many versions from what I've heard."

Meredith stopped swinging her legs and looked at her cousin with a furrowed brow. There was something in her eyes that made Meg shift uncomfortably.

"And the people are- I mean, they think it was-"

"-They think it was Hood" Guy interrupted, clenching his fists until they became ghostly white. Rage began boiling inside of him. _It should've been me... It was I who should've rid the world of him. _

"What of Prince John? Did he summon the lords' council?" asked the green eyed woman with growing interest.

Meg's face brightened when she smiled.

"No" she said, traces of bitter amusement apparent in her voice "At first I couldn't believe it, but as it turns out, he was glad the castle was freed of Vaisey. He immediately began the search for the new sheriff, and then Isabella..."

"Isabella!?" Guy leapt to his feet, ignoring the dumb throb of pain in his side "What has _she_ to do with this matter?!"

The red haired girl stumbled backwards, startled by the sudden reaction. When he stepped closer, eyes aflame, she gave a frightened reply:

"M-much to do with it; she's been chosen to take the former sheriff's place" Her voice was shaking a bit and she kept her eyes fixed on the tall man standing before her "They announced it just before I left the city walls".

The dumb pain that crippled his body was nothing compared to the terrible anxiety that consumed his mind. _His sister, a sheriff?_ Instead of feeling proud of a family member, he felt jealousy and anger well up deep inside his soul. The world didn't know her as he did. It was oblivious to her transgressions and would remain contentedly in that state till it felt the first jab of her power. They didn't know the true Isabella. They didn't know what she could become.

"Prince John... _made her sheriff_?" he rasped, looking down at Meg who flinched under his gaze. "How is that possible?"

The girl opened her mouth and then shut it again, lacking the answers. She truly didn't know. The man standing before her looked furious and in that moment she had no doubts about his strength; even wounded, he presented himself a mighty opponent. She wouldn't want to be in his way when anger took hold of him, though she couldn't help feeling impressed by the power that seemed to radiate from his tall form.

Before either of the women could react, he moved for the door and shoved it open with one pull; the wood slammed into the wall, the whole hut shaking from the impact. He was outside in seconds, not caring whether the thing that watched them before was still there and made for the wooden stable at the back of the hut.

"What is he-"Meg didn't finish, as Meredith jumped off the table and ran past her, towards the door.

"Don't go outside" she commanded before disappearing on the other side of the door and slamming it behind her.

She saw Guy walk out of the stables with a sword in his hand. _And she thought she'd hidden that well!_

"What are you doing?" she asked in an uneasy tone. It was apparent, but maybe if she delayed him a bit, he would calm down and see reason.

"I'm going to Nottingham" he growled and walked past her without giving her a second look. She quickly took a hold of his arm trying to stop him, but he was too strong for her, even in his present state. She was forced to trot after him, yet still she didn't release his arm.

"Sir Guy!" his eyes were fixed on the trees.

"Sir Guy, please!"

He stopped and shot a furious glance at her. Meredith refused to be intimidated by the dark look and pulled at his arm once more, with all strength she had left.

"Please, don't do this! You will regret it forever-"

"Isabella should pay now, before she gains too much confidence in her power" he said in a dangerously low voice. The woman was more stubborn than he thought, but her touch made his anger stop flaring so wildly.

"Isabella will keep" Meredith pleaded, pulling him back towards the hut. "And so will Robin Hood".

"You don't know her" Guy retorted, moving closer to her. So close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, as if there were real flames of fire wreathed beneath his skin.

"You don't know the damage she could do if she were given a right to rule. I must stop her and put an end to this" his voice became harsh, unyielding "Before it's too late." he made a step forward, releasing himself from Meredith's grasp.

"You can't fight the whole army of Nottingham alone!" she cried, letting go of his arm. Surprisingly, he didn't resume walking; He watched her instead, the embers of anger slowly dying away behind his crystal blue irises.

"The strength you have now will disappear after a day. Revenge drives you, but your body was broken and needs time to heal... before you can fight or defend yourself!"

She looked up at him when he turned around to face her. He towered over her, the great knight in black made of stone and tempered steel; the mighty, powerful man... yet still only a mortal.

"You know _nothing_ of battles and war, woman" he hissed, bending lower to meet her gaze.

Meredith moved before he could draw a breath; she closed the distance between them and grabbed him by his shirt's collar, pulling him down with her.

"I might not know how to fight" she whispered in his ear, lips almost brushing against his jawline "But I'm mighty good at persuasion". In that moment, he felt something make contact with his injured side, sending bolts of excruciating pain through his whole body. He gasped for air, seeing as the woman retreated into the trees and out of sight.

"What... why did you do this?" he called in a raspy voice, as his vision blurred for a moment. He couldn't see where she has gone and it infuriated him. The anger took over once more and Guy growled as he tried to stand straight. The sword fell from his hand just a moment ago and his first reaction was to pick it up and start searching for the woman. He wouldn't hurt her, of that he was sure, but he wanted her to feel the same as he felt at that moment... weak, humiliated, disappointed... _Disappointed?_ Where did that come from?

"Like I said before, _persuasion_" he heard her voice coming from a few feet away. She knew she should keep her distance for the time being, before he calmed down.

"There's not much a woman could do if she wants to win an argument with the likes of you" she said with a shade of amusement. She wasn't too worried about his wound; the punch wasn't too hard and shouldn't do any serious damage, except for the pain he felt right now. It made her pity him a bit and she turned around to look from behind a tree. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw no sign of him or his sword anywhere. The absence of the latter made her more uneasy.

"Are you sure you've _won_?" she heard the deep whisper next to her ear. Next came the feel of a blade digging slightly into her side and Meredith turned to look at him, not sure of what emotion she'll see.

"_Mer-e-dith!_"

Meg was standing outside of the hut, yelling in a high-pitched tone.

"_Meredith_, where are you?!"

"Right here!" she shouted back, her voice a little shaky "I'm all right, we're just... talking!".

_Clearly_, considering the steel blade she could still feel in her side.

"It'll be a minute, go back inside!"

Meg hesitated but complied, returning to the hut and closing the door behind her.

"A minute?" she heard Guy's breath on the column of her throat "A minute won't do. Now, why did you do this?" he asked, forcing his tone to be even, and lowering his sword to the ground.

"I asked you not to go" she couldn't stop the trembling. It's been so long since she had a sword pointed at her and honestly, she didn't enjoy the feeling.

"You'd die if you went to Nottingham now. And I didn't help to save you, just so that you could throw your life away." she added, turning to him.

He pondered on her words, fighting the waves of pain bolting through his body. He indeed wasn't in the state to fight - not if he wanted to win anyway. Besides, appearing in the very heart of the city when you've been declared as dead wasn't the most discreet way to sneak into the castle. He hadn't yet regained his former strength, and wouldn't put up much of a fight against the guards. He had to agree with Meredith, though he hated to admit it; going to Nottingham now was ridiculous.

"What do you propose then?" he asked, watching her expression intently. If she should wish to trick him again, he would make her pay – he didn't yet know how, but he promised himself that he would.

"Three days" she answered, regaining her usual composure "Three days, and you can go wherever your eyes lead you; I won't stop you then".

Guy raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"You could heal me in three days?"

"Things change quickly" she said, tilting her head to the left "If I judged you right, your temper wouldn't allow you to stay imprisoned for longer than that"

A low chuckle escaped his throat and Meredith saw him smile honestly for the first time. It was a pleasant sight and so contagious she had to smile herself.

"What if I go willingly?"

He was looking at her with pure amusement. The hostility was nearly gone. _Nearly_.

"Well" Meredith stepped back, and started walking slowly down the hill "It would make your stay here bearable, and I'd feel safer"

Guy followed, looking at the treetops above, as if searching for something. _It was gone. Hopefully._

She was waiting for him in front of the hut. When he came closer, she smiled brightly and stretched out a hand, inviting him to come with her.

"It'd be no fun to fight Prince John without you, Sir Guy" she said, laughing "The battle for Nottingham will soon be over. Let us hope the good ones win"

"Let us hope" he whispered, before opening the door and letting her through.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** **I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. **_


	9. Chapter 9: A shard of eternity

Dellyn sat up suddenly, hitting her head on a stone arc with a dull thud. She could've sworn it wasn't there when she fell asleep.

When she looked to the left, the only thing she could see was a soft darkness and the city of Nottingham sleeping peacefully down below. The gates were closed for the night, the only movement caused by a few guards coursing through the narrow streets, talking in hushed tones when they encountered each other. It was a peaceful night, but Dellyn knew it was merely a moment of silence before the storm: The battle for Nottingham will soon begin.

She shifted uncomfortably, massaging her sore arms and legs.

"_It's the last time I'm getting up a tree for nothing_" she thought bitterly. She only managed to catch sight of Meredith and the man in black talking, too focused on one another to see her or sense her presence. She could only hear faint echoes of "Persuasion", "Argument" and "Three days". From what she understood, the man would stay in the woodland dwelling for at least that long. Good. That gave her time to deal with other problems.

The rain came sooner than she had expected and she returned to the city soaking wet, just before the closing of the gates for the night. The orders were always as clear as could be, but she hated performing them anyway. She shook her head, musing on what she would be assigned to do next: Hide in ground-holes like a rabbit, perhaps?

Dellyn sighed, closing her eyes for a second before she slid off the window sill. She had things to attend to before she could go to sleep.

* * *

Fire was blazing in the hearth, setting the inside of the hut in a warm, golden glow. Three darker figures sat by the table: two women of similar features and a grim-looking man. His dark mane was falling over his eyes, but he made no move to brush it aside.

They just finished eating their simple supper and the conversation slowly dimmed before coming to an end, when they needed to rethink all that's been said. All three were silent: The only sound they could hear was the moaning of the wind and the murmur of rain on the hut's roof. Quiet thoughts roamed freely in the small space, as each of the gathered was musing over a different thing.

Guy still couldn't believe Vaisey was gone. He asked Meg a few more times whether she was sure of the news, to which she at last responded "_Like I said before: He is dead and will remain so as far as I'm concerned_" and then added, in a quieter tone "_Some of those that live deserve such a fate too_".

Her remark didn't hurt nearly as much as it should, for he saw the truth in it - however bitterly expressed. The girl had to be hurt by either him or the Sheriff in the past, and still hasn't forgotten the injustice. There was a momentary pause when Guy wondered what it might've been, before his temper forced him to comment, and a quarrel broke out between the hot headed Meghan and himself.

_Foolish girl._ She never thought twice before speaking her mind. But - to tell the truth - so did he.

The former lord of Locksley raised his head and looked at the red-head sitting across the table. She had agreeable features, maybe even beautiful to some extent. Her eyes were either dark blue or light grey; he hasn't yet decided their color. Her hair curled around her temples in wild locks, sometimes red and sometimes the shade of autumn honey - it was the most graceful ornament in her countenance, more beautiful than any golden adornment she could purchase. Her beauty was wilder than Meredith's and suited her character well.

Guy couldn't help a crooked smile. To win over such a restless soul would be an interesting challenge.

When Meredith finally stood up to clean up the dishes, Meg was suddenly roused out of her reverie; unfortunately, the first thing her gaze fell upon was her neighbor's smirk.

"What are you lookin' at?"

He averted his gaze and stood up in order to help Meredith, all the while trying to hide his amusement.

"Are all the Welsh women so truculent?" he asked his green-eyed companion, keeping himself from laughing at Meg's reaction.

"What's that?" her eyes widened. They were grey, he was almost sure now. "Willing to pick a fight?"

Guy took a pitcher from the table, his gaze wandering anywhere but in Meg's direction "You'd think, but no. I don't wish to fight" he made his way around the wooden construction and headed towards the kitchen.

"The likes of you have that in their nature" she followed in order to take the pitcher from him, but he moved it out of her reach. It was almost playful - if anything concerning Guy of Gisborne could ever be that. Well, people change, and he was no exception in the matter.

"Touché, my lady" he smiled, setting the item on the ceramic sink. "But I see the same inclination in your delightful self". It felt so good to tease her, he didn't understand why, but it did.

The girl's cheeks reddened and her eyes were glowing with exasperation.

"No wonder Isabella wants you dead" she spat, turning away and heading back to the table "You're the most irritating, annoying, terrible..." she was running out of insults "...ruthless, cold-blooded evil murderer the earth had yet to endure!"

Meredith's hands stopped mid-way to the stack of plates sitting on the sink. Even Meg had a feeling she had gone too far.

The lighthearted conversation gave way to a grim air of resentfulness and Guy was once again his old self. Meg's last word echoed in his mind, ringing maddeningly in his ears: _Murderer_.

"You know _nothing _of Isabella" he said in a low, dangerous tone "You know _nothing_ of what we are, or what we've been through"

_Murderer – Is that what I am?_

"You have no right to judge us, ignorant girl."

He was standing in close proximity and Meg could see the tongues of fire dancing behind his crystal blue irises. This man was hard to decipher and God knew it only made him all the more interesting. Meg felt anger, offence and... Pity – clashing and fighting for winners inside her.

Offence won – it always did, in her case.

"And _you_ don't know half o' the sufferings me and my family had to endure under _your_ mighty Sheriff's rule!" she hissed, gathering courage to step closer to the man. She might've been angry, but she wasn't as stupid as not to consider his fiery temper.

"Some days we were starving to death and other days we had no water to drink. Yet we still had to pay taxes, and somehow live on the scraps we had left. Do you think that the blood staining your hands will ever wash away? Do you believe that people could forgive-"

"_Enough_! I say _enough_!"

To their surprise it was not Guy's voice, but Meredith's. She was leaning against the sink, with her eyes closed and unsteady breathing. Even in the dim light they could see her unnatural pallor.

"Meghan... _Ni fyddaf yn goddef hyn_" she whispered "_Ni fyddaf_."*

He didn't understand what she said, but Guy saw Meg's anger lessen, and a shade of remorse made its way into her countenance.

"_Mae'n y gwir_..." her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. Then she quickly turned away and walked up to the space separated from the rest of the room by a curtain, disappearing on its other side and never taking as much as a single glance at Guy. He kept looking at the colorful rug behind which she had just disappeared, while the flames in his eyes were slowly dying away. _What was that all about?_

"I am... I apologize of her behavior" he heard Meredith say and when he turned, he saw her arms were wrapped tightly around her form, eyes fixed on the far end of the hut. There was something he'd not noticed before, but couldn't decide whether it was fear or defiance.

"She's a little... she gets carried away sometimes. It's in her character" Meredith smiled weakly.

"May it be a family trait?" words came out before he could stop them, and he regretted opening his mouth when he saw her expression. There was so much fatigue and hidden sorrow underneath that angelic exterior – so much pain. He was suddenly reminded of the story she told him the day before. Her life was as miserable as his; her parents died the same way and she was forced to live in an unknown land for so long... No, there was no reason for him to torment her.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

She bestowed him with an even weaker smile – it was a heartbreaking sight, even to Guy.

"No, you are right. It's the temper... back at home arguing is almost a sign of affection..." the thought of her homeland seemed to brighten her spirits a bit.

"Her father... my uncle... he's a headstrong man and I think Meghan takes after him for the most part" Meredith chuckled half-heartedly "There is a lot of kindness in that girl, though. She just doesn't let it show."

"The same way you won't let your pain show?"

He did it again. What was happening to him?

The woman's eyes were now looking straight at him, questioningly. She seemed a bit startled, but not offended.

"My pain?" she asked, straining to keep her gaze on Guy "I don't know what you mean".

He closed the distance in a few long strides; he was now towering over her, so that she had to crane her neck to look him in the face. Meredith fought the impulse to move away from him – he seemed like a calm, partly tamed predator - but still a predator.

"Forgiveness" he said, and for the first time Meredith saw true remorse in his blue irises.

"You want to forgive. You did, many times, yet you cannot do so with me..."

She felt her heart beat quicker and louder in her chest. This man saw too much of her true self... It was the memories of home that made her talk. She should've forgotten by now. She should've... well, she should _not_ have looked into his eyes at that moment.

It was a second, a spark of eternity that made its way in between the two. Meredith felt his hot breath on her forehead, his gaze locked with hers. Those eyes... they were asking questions and searching for answers; delving deep into her soul. She almost felt as though he tried to literally pull the secrets out of her. Slowly. Gently.

"You know you haven't forgiven" he whispered, his hand finding its way to cup her cheek. The contact made her shiver, but she didn't move away. She had yet to discern whether what she felt was was fear or... something else entirely.

"_Why?_"

The next thing she knew, there was only a thin barrier of air separating them. He came so close, that she didn't know where his soul ended and hers began.

His damp breath moved lower, his hand moving away stray locks of her golden hair. It was like a trance and Meredith felt trapped in between reality and the misty shadows of the dream.

A thunder was heard far over the Sherwood Forest.

Suddenly Meredith became aware of her surroundings once more, rousing from the dream-like state.

"_Dim heddiw_" she managed to whisper in a weak voice "_Dim heddiw".** _

She didn't know the feeling was mutual and that Guy too has awoken the moment he heard the peal of thunder. He slowly moved away, finding that deep down he didn't really want to withdraw.

The woman closed her eyes, gathering her strength for another words:

"Not today... I don't know the answer today."

Guy nodded and made himself move away, giving her space to breathe.

"We'd... better go to sleep" he made a step towards his bed before turning around and giving her a look she couldn't decipher. She guessed it was worry – she must've been as pale as snow by now.

"I'm fine" she said weekly, but didn't even try to conjure a smile. If she was truly fine, then why did her legs feel as if they were made of cotton?

'_No, not now Meredith. You can think on it later'_ she told herself and with that, made her way across the room, to the curtain behind which Meg has recently disappeared.

They said 'Good night' to each other and Meredith disappeared behind the colorful rug. Guy was left alone.

Meg was already asleep, curled up on the bed; she didn't even bother to get under the covers.

'_Poor thing'_ Meredith thought as she sat down next to her cousin. She pulled a patchwork blanket over the sleeping form and lay down on the unoccupied side of the bed, back facing the wall.

"The night will pass..." she whispered, closing her eyes. The memories of the days past made their way underneath her eyelids, causing her head to spin.

"...And a good new day will dawn..."

The last thing she saw before giving in to exhaustion was a pair of crystal blue eyes; the eyes that held all secrets of the world she didn't know – the world she dreamed of.

...For_ tomorrow is never lost._

* * *

_**Dictionary (Welsh):** **1. Ni fyddaf yn goddef hyn. Ni fyddaf - I will not tolerate this. I will not. 2. Mae'n y gwir - It's the truth. 3. Dim heddiw - Not today**_

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. _**


	10. Chapter 10: Dreams of azure

The colors varied from sky blue to deep indigo. There was no shade - not above the glassy surface of the frozen lake. He stood on a small island in its very center; all around him was a plain of shimmering ice, as far as the eye could see. The horizon was painted a misty purple and there seemed to be no mainland separating earth from sky.

There was no sun or moon and the stars were absent; light seemed to emanate from the island he was standing on, and reflected in the crystal clear lake.

He took a deep breath, feeling an unnatural strength seep into his body along with the cold air.

'_What is this place?'_ he thought, closing his eyes and listening intently. A deep silence surrounded the island - not even a whisper of wind could be heard anywhere near.

He knew this place to be entirely different from the White Chamber. His mind could never originate something consisting of such perfect nothingness. He knew the limits of his imagination; either he was dreaming, or... maybe this could be real? The starless sky, the island and the lake...

Yes... _the lake_. His mind was being consumed by the idea of it. If he looked over its edge, surely he would be able to see the bottom...

Like he had noticed before, there was indeed no shade _above_ the lake. But there _was_ a deep darkness inside it, beneath the glassy surface. Its presence disturbed him and the anxiety that it seemed to wake in his heart kept his feet fixed firmly to the ground.

"_This is ridiculous_" he said to himself "_I'm dreaming, and all of this is just a-_"

Something moved in the sapphire depth of the lake.

Within seconds he was pushed forward by an irresistible force, until he found himself standing on the very brink of the plain, almost touching the frozen surface. Another second and his eyes penetrated the transparent ice, searching the murky depth with an almost fearful precision.

His eyes widened in amazement and horror, when he realized what was hidden in the darkness of the lake.

It was a city. Tall, heavy towers surrounded by walls of grey stone; streets which ran back and forth around the center were narrow, and all joined with the main road at some point. The great road itself consisted mostly of light-colored dust and lead up the slight hill on which the city stood - from the solid gates at its base, up to the second wall, beyond which there was... a castle. Built from the same stone as the thick walls and rising above the city, it seemed worthy of being called ominous. But despite its dark, ghostly aura, it also appeared strong and somehow... magnificent.

He could see the small specks of people who appeared to be the city's inhabitants, moving in all directions, gathering in groups around the market and talking merrily with each other, as if the city's gloomy atmosphere didn't affect them.

It was Nottingham.

The man's heartbeat quickened, breaths becoming uneven and shallow. _How could it be?_

He unconsciously stretched his hand out towards the crystal surface. There was a cold tingle on the tips of his fingers and when he hurriedly withdrew his hand the feeling lingered there for a few seconds before disappearing entirely.

"_I'm going mad_" he mumbled, looking at the lake with both fear and amazement. Was it really Nottingham? Or was he just imagining things?

He couldn't keep himself from gazing at the unbelievable city, so lifelike and realistic; he had to remind himself that it was a mere illusion, a reflection – nothing more. And yet, when his blue eyes met the sapphire depth, the colors seemed to blend into one - it felt like entering a world he already belonged to and which welcomed him with all its being. All he wanted at that moment was to delve into the lake and join the people down there, the people who were apparently happy with the lives they had.

Suddenly he saw a familiar figure standing on one of the towers and looking down at the market with discontent. A mane of tangled black hair fell past its shoulders, onto the collar of a blood-red dress. Isabella.

She would be a part of the city by now; he knew it well enough, though there was still a small pinch of surprise in his stomach. Isabella – his only sister, his worst enemy was there... but he felt neither hatred nor anger at the sight. Deep down, somewhere in the corner of his soul, he still thought of her as _his_ _little sister_, the one whom he'd been protecting for many long years; the one who now despised him beyond all living things, because of what he's done to her past.

The feeling of regret was replaced by shock, when his gaze fell upon another figure, which was walking towards the city gates. Seeing Isabella was a surprise, but this... this was clearly _impossible_.

The man knelt down on the island's white shore, keeping as close to the surface as gravity allowed him and trying not to fall in at the same time.

"_Marian..."_

Yes, it was her. Just like he remembered: a vibrant, cheerful and smiling person, the woman who believed he had still some good left in him. The woman who deceived him, lied to him, betrayed him, fed his plans to his enemies... The one whom he killed with his own hands.

Marian walked up to a group of people standing near the massive gate. It was then that he realized there were others he could recognize among the colorful crowd. He reluctantly pulled his gaze away from Marian, as his eyes began to wander from one street to another, widening in amazement every time he saw a familiar face.

Surprisingly, the former Sheriff or Prince John were not to be seen anywhere; soon he discovered that anyone who he had ever declared as his enemy (at heart - not only with words) was absent from the picture. There was no Longthorn, no Carrey and... No Robin Hood.

What was this all about? However much he despised them, he had to admit their absence was more unnerving than each and every one of their encounters his memory could summon. Something was out of place.

The water wrinkled slightly, even though he hadn't touched it. There was still no wind...

He felt rather than heard a quiet, almost inaudible breath coming from behind him. He turned and stood up abruptly a second later seeing who it was.

"_You?_"

She didn't answer. Her eyes were closed and she seemed oblivious to her surroundings; she wore a long dress which emanated silver and white. The pearly sands of the island seemed to wrap around her like the most magnificent attire he'd ever seen – the sapphire waters were dancing at her feet, and she smiled as they licked the rim of her dress. This place welcomed her with an almost childish enthusiasm - he even caught the change in the sky's color from the corner of his eye: It was now a wonderful mixture of azure and cerulean, so clear that it felt like he needed to just reach up in order to touch the firmament.

They stood in silence for a while, before the woman made a move. She didn't turn to him, nor did she withdraw to stand on the white shore; with three small steps she was in the water, and making her way deeper with every passing moment. It was then that he finally woke up from the awestruck state and rushed to pull her back onto the safe land.

Something stopped him mid-way before he could reach her – it was the same force as before, but this time he felt it _inside_ him. It shook his core and pulsated through his veins, making his head spin wildly. With every step the radiant woman took, the feeling was becoming stronger and stronger, until he couldn't discern reality from the overwhelming wave that was building up inside him. Again, he tried to get nearer to the lady, for the water was reaching up to her waist by now, but still she didn't stop.

'_She's going to drown'_ he thought, fighting against himself '_Why is she doing this? Does she want to get_ _herself killed?'_

It was then that he heard a deafening thunder and the island shook under his feet. He stumbled trying to keep his balance and managed to look over his shoulder, just as the city of the lake collapsed into rubble of stone and dust.

It was seconds before he was reminded of the woman's presence. He turned abruptly to see that she was no longer there; the only thing that didn't seem frozen was a single wave on the lake's surface, marking the place where she had disappeared.

* * *

Guy was awoken by the sound of wood making contact with the floor. It seemed to echo in his head until the other senses began working again. _Only a dream...Yes, a dream._

He could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest, and he lay still for a few more seconds, before finally opening his eyes.

At first he didn't recognize his surroundings, but as his gaze fell upon the kitchen table and the small fireplace, his head slowly began to clear. He was back. He didn't know where from, but he was back once more.

He threw back the covers and stretched; it was surprising how yesterday's treatment has mended his condition. Guy felt his former strength, lulled to sleep by the almost fatal wound, returning, filling him with new energy and hope. And all of this was the doing of one person...

_Meredith._

With that one word, the memories of the previous day invaded his mind.

Their conversation from last night was even more vivid in the light of a bright morning; talking about pain, forgiveness, eternity... And the indescribable, complex connection that bound them together for what could've been seconds as well as millennia...

It was no simple attraction. To tell the truth, Guy even doubted it was attraction at all. It came from deep within and was much stronger, more pure than what usually binds man and woman together. He hadn't felt so powerful in many long years, but it was a power of a different kind; the strength of heart, something that compelled the body to fight against the obstacles without fear.

He was thankful to whoever had returned him back from the darkness – for he believed that was what happened that night in the forest – he was also filled with gratitude towards the incredible woman, whose hands and words were like a healing potion to him.

Guy stood from the bed and, driven by a feeling of care – almost foreign, but not forgotten – walked towards the curtain separating the sleeping area from the rest of the room. He still felt a bit unsure on his legs, but it was infinitely better than yesterday, he assured himself.

He carefully drew the curtains open, trying not to make any noise; upon seeing Meg's form, sleeping peacefully under a patchwork blanket he felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. They fell back down when he noted the absence of the other woman and his brows drew together in a dark line as he looked around, checking if she was maybe sitting quietly in some corner. He already knew it would be impossible to hide in such a small house, with only one room and no cellars or attics.

"Meredith?" his voice was a whisper, for he didn't want to wake Meg up as he searched for the girl's cousin.

'_She must be outside'_ he thought, making his way to the door, anxiety involuntarily creeping into the back of his head.

The moment his hand gripped the handle, he heard a horse whinnying outside. With it came a soft voice that without a doubt belonged to Meredith:

"Now Kael, I know you haven't had a good run in a week or so, but don't make any noise! If we wake them up, we'll be done for!"

'_Done for_?' Guy listened closely, putting his ear against the door purely out of habit. Where was she going?

"You know your way well, old boy" he heard a small rustle which probably meant she was mounting her steed.

"Well then, let's take the usual road. To Locksley!"

Guy heard a muffled sound of the horse's hooves on the forest floor as the animal broke into an even trot. Without thinking twice, he quickly put on his boots, took the sword from underneath his bed and ran outside without wasting any more time. He passed a broom lying on the floor, noting that it was the possible source of the sound to which he awakened, but he forgot about it the moment he found himself outside again.

"Locksley!" He kept repeating over and over in hushed tones, as he searched the ground for fresh tracks "She makes me stay here, yet she runs off to _Locksley_ first thing in the morning! Ah, there they are..."

He quickly found the hoof marks leading south-east, and followed them as fast as he could, ignoring the still weakened muscles that refused to work properly.

When awoken, his curiosity had no boundaries – as did his need for adventure. But most importantly, the thing Guy of Gisborne liked most of all was a good chase and a few mysteries to solve before breakfast.

* * *

**_Thank you lots for your reviews! _**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. _**


	11. Chapter 11: The morning's simple glory

He had almost forgotten how much he loved the woods. The feeling of anxious excitement when chasing the outlaws was nothing, compared to the thrill of adventure he felt at the moment. Guy remembered the times of service to another master; the memories flooded his mind before he could stop them, and a thin smile appeared on his lips. Sir Rowan of Danby taught him everything he knew.

Drawing the trees' lower branches away, he came to a sudden halt: Meredith was nowhere to be seen. The rustling of the fallen leaves that accompanied her journey thus far has faded away. Guy cursed inwardly, quickening his pace as much as his injuries would let him. He's gone too far to turn back now.

After a while he stopped again, listening for any noises that would prove the rider was still in close proximity; none came. He let out an annoyed sigh. _Listen._

A single memory appeared on the surface of his consciousness: a boy of nine, maybe ten, hunting for great, magnificent deer in the woods surrounding Gisborough with nothing but a makeshift bow and arrow. His mind was set on showing his father he was a suitable companion for battle escapades, which occurred quite frequently in those days. He even brought himself to ask Sir Rowan for help, which was unusual, considering the boy's stubborn, proud bearing took offence in having to take any kind of assistance. It had been around that time that his teacher told him how to track the forest animals, using neither sight nor knowledge, but his hearing. It was a hard trick, but mainly worth the effort.

The grown up Guy knelt down on the forest floor, putting his ear close to the ground. His hands rested on the foliage, eyes closed. _Listen_.

There was a barely perceptible trembling, like a far echo of a sound, but Guy was sure it was no illusion. She was still close enough. What disturbed him, was that he could also feel something stirring deep in the heart of Sherwood: It was an unnerving thud, much like a quickened pulse of a formidable, dark creature.

Guy rose to his full height and headed west, guided by the barely perceptible echoes vibrating through the earth. He couldn't help but smile to himself; it's been years and yet he still remembered the old man's teachings.

It wasn't long before he spotted Meredith's horse, far off in the distance. His smirk widened, but still he crept through the thicket, careful not to make any sound.

After a few minutes, Guy saw a glimpse of a dust road, towards which the woman was headed. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a moss-covered boulder of a queer, yet familiar shape, standing on the roadside like an ancient guardian. He quickened his pace, brow furrowed into a look of confusion.

It appeared queer to him that even though Meredith clearly stated she was going to Locksley, she took the road leading straight to Nottingham.

Before she rode out to meet the open space, Meredith cast a quick glance about her and if Guy wasn't quick enough to hide, she would've noticed his dark figure just a few yards away. Fortunately, she was in too much of a hurry, and as soon as Kael's hooves hit the dusty road, she spurred him to a hasty trot.

Guy followed with a sigh, still careful not to make too much noise as he forced his aching body to a jog.

He felt the almost-fatal wound burning, sending waves of sickly warmth through his whole side, but he managed to ignore it; there'll be plenty of time for it to heal when he's got his answers. Right now his only goal was to find out the reason for Meredith's early morning ride, and what business she had with _his_... well, what used to be _his village_.

The woman was altogether a very mysterious being, not entirely earthly, though the otherworldliness he noticed in her was only showing at special times. She told him the story of her life, but still held back many secrets, and he supposed she wasn't willing to share them with anyone.

Guy sighed inwardly as he looked through the trees; the wind played with Meredith's amber hair, and the sun's waking rays shone on her form, lending her an almost heavenly glow.

"_The chase is a thrill_" he thought, "_But it's the prize that really matters..._"

* * *

She breathed in the fresh, morning air. Troubles of both soul and mind disappeared with the first light, letting her heart roam freely to the lands that lay hundreds of miles to the south. She recalled Wales as the most beautiful place in the world, the place where both her heritage and freedom lay. Here, in the hostile kingdom of England she felt imprisoned, slowly suffocating from the lack of the rough, western wind, blowing form the sea. Only when riding in a wild speed through the depth of Sherwood did she let her spirit soar high and far away from the war-plagued Land of The Lion.

Meredith closed her eyes, reveling in the sun's warm touch; what wouldn't she give to see her motherland once again? But this dream was out of her reach. She couldn't travel alone, for she wasn't trained in sword fighting, or strong enough to go alone all the way to the border – she resigned herself to the fact a long time ago. She needed to find someone who'd take her with him, but who? Meredith didn't know any merchants who travelled so far south, and the peasants had only their own business in mind. None could be of help to her, and still the longing to see her homeland has grown stronger and stronger with every passing season.

The woman opened her eyes again with a soft sigh. No. She is not going to succumb to the sorrow. She shall carry the memories carved within her heart as long as she lives. Locked away in a safe place, so that no one could see.

_But _– a mocking voice countered – _someone _did _see. Someone noticed a reflection of who you are._

Meredith was suddenly reminded of the previous night, and the last sliver of happiness the morning ride woke up in her, instantly dissipated. _Guy._

The aching sorrow was replaced by a strong anxiety; what happened yesterday was a mistake. She knew how dangerously close she came to the knight - the man, whom she had yet to forgive. He was right with his assumptions, and it made her flinch to know that he read her feelings so easily.

It was all the fault of his eyes... Tantalizing, seducing... or maybe... questioning?

She didn't understand how, but Guy of Gisborne delved into her soul in that moment, prying open the door she made to lock her true self away. The true self that needed a home, needed compassion, needed... strength. She would never admit it aloud, but at times she felt as if the burden that's been laid on her shoulders was forged just to crush her when she finally falls. So many times she longed to share the load with another soul, but deep down she knew it could never be.

But... his strength, as she found out, was not only physical. It was rooted into his core, even though darkened and corrupted with shadows of the past. It was still there. A powerful well that might pour out a river of good, if only given the chance.

Her thoughts once again returned to her homeland. Maybe if she were still living there, peacefully, none of the terrible things would've happened? Her home, her parents and friends... it would've all been in place, and she could manage to say the word 'love' without a pang of despair twisting her core.

Her mount slowed down into a light trot, rousing her out of her reverie. She smiled softly at the animal.

"_Anwylyd _Kael" she said, stroking her steed's neck lovingly "You would love _Cymru_, I bet you would. Far green plains, the magnificent sea, the wind..."

Kael gave a short whinny, which Meredith took as an approval.

"I know. It would be mighty well-" she was cut off by a rumbling sound of hooves. Looking up, she saw a cloud of dust rising above the far end of the road; the figures of four or five black-clad riders soon came into view.

Fighting the impulse to run, she maneuvered Kael to trot at the very edge of the road, dipping into the trees' shadow as they kept riding. Meredith quickly changed her position in the saddle, so that both of her legs were now flung over the left side of her mount, her dress covering one on the bags strapped to it. She couldn't let them see the bag's contents even if her life depended on it.

As the riders neared her and Kael, Meredith thought she could discern a familiar face among them. It wasn't, however, a pleasant surprise. She saw them slow down, and put a hood over her head, as they came to a halt a few feet away. They wore not black, but dark green uniforms, sewn in such a fashion, that they looked like four overgrown crows, sitting atop dark colored steeds. The one leading them was an entirely different matter: he sported a long, black cloak, and on his chest hung a silver chain with a round medallion attached to it. With a quick glance in his direction, Meredith saw it was adorned with two crowned stags and a wooden cross – Nottingham's coat of arms.

"The sun shines brightly over our path today, my men" she heard the medallion's owner speak "It has set one of its golden splinters for us to feast our eyes upon!".

Meredith shuddered. The sudden image of vultures came to mind as she looked reluctantly at the men, who were grinning widely at their master's remark.

"My lord" she bowed her head in feigned respect "It pleases me to see you in good health".

The black-clad man gave a disgusting laugh, sending cold shivers down Meredith's spine. It was possibly the most horrible sound she'd ever heard, and the woman had to fight the urge to cover her ears.

"William Carrey is always in good health!" he answered, maneuvering his steed closer to Meredith's. She saw a flash of his watery eyes, and pulled her hood lower, until only the tip of her nose could be seen.

"Why, my lady, thank you for your concern" he said grinning wolfishly "And might I inquire of your health? We haven't seen you around Locksley of late..." Carrey leaned closer to her, bending over his saddle to see her face, now half concealed in shadow.

"It would be a pleasure to have you visit us more often... We, especially I, would grieve over the loss of such a... lovely acquaintance".

The last two words were whispered so close to Meredith's ear, that she had to restrain herself with all her might not to punch the man in that smug face of his. Fortunately, she didn't have to.

Carrey's horse suddenly reared up, kicking the air violently and almost throwing its rider off the saddle. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing.

"I'm quite well, my lord, thank you." she said evenly, making Kael move further from Carrey's steed "Now if you would excuse me, I have to get to Nottingham before midday" she added with an underlying tone of finality.

"I bid you all farewell"

Kael, as if understanding the signal, immediately started into a hasty trot, carrying her away from the men. Their master, however, managed to yell after them:

"Beware, my lady! If I don't see you at tomorrow's festivities at Locksley, I'd be compelled to bring you there by force!"

Meredith refused to turn around, squeezing the reins with a ferocity that almost made her deaf to the bellowing laughs coming from behind her back.

* * *

It wasn't the best idea to spook Carrey's horse, but Guy found it impossible not to take advantage of the situation. He stifled a groan of disappointment when the man managed to calm the beast. Such a pity... it would've served him right for talking to _his_... to Meredith that way. The man was insufferable!

Guy tossed another stone in the air, catching it as it started descending. One day – and he hoped that day comes soon – he would pay Carrey for everything he's done. But till the right moment occurs, he'd have to be patient and stay hidden. It's not every day that you come back from the dead, after all.

* * *

After another mile or so the road split into two narrow ones – one leading south-west, and the other straight east, to the city of Nottingham. There was an old wooden signpost standing on a small island of greenery, where both routes met; a raven sat on one of its arms, looking at the nearing horse without interest. Beyond the road's heavy dust, the landscape was beginning to rise and fall steadily, and, standing at the lowest point between the rolling hills, was a tall, grey city. Its square and rectangular buildings cut into the pleasant view with an austere dignity, giving the impression of being unfriendly, even hostile.

Meredith didn't bestow Nottingham with a single glance: her eyes were fixed on a small settlement that lay less than two miles west of the city. Kael turned towards the eastern road, but she stopped him at once, pulling at his reigns.

"Not today, _anwylyd_" Guy heard her say "We wouldn't be welcome there today".

With that they turned once more, heading the other way, in the direction where Locksley lay. Guy gave a quiet sigh and followed them, keeping a safe distance at all times. He was beginning to grow tired of the pursuit, and though it appealed strongly to his want of adventure, his sore muscles were begging for a short rest. To distract himself from focusing on his weariness, he tried to remember the name of the village which was, apparently, known to Meredith. Why did her voice sound so full of sorrow when she said they wouldn't be welcome? It wasn't as if the woman could be so easily affected by a simple act of unkindness – that much he knew for sure.

After another half an hour of treading though the forest and keeping close to the road, he saw a great big oak rising above all other trees; its mighty branches overhung the dusty road, making a sort of a green, leafy arch. Guy smiled bitterly at the sun that shone through the tree's crown. _Locksley._

Soon, the first houses came into view. Low, sometimes leaning at one another, they looked like drunken brothers with light, stray hair – poor, yet blissfully merry. Children were running around the unkept yards, playing with each other, singing old songs and laughing throughout the short intervals between the two. To Guy's surprise, the moment they spotted Kael and Meredith riding towards the village, they abandoned their former occupations, and with another burst of laughter, even louder than before, ran to meet the approaching woman.

"It's the Lady!" they shouted with their high-pitched voices "It's Lady Day!"

"Lady Day!" others repeated, and soon there was at least a dozen children gathered around Meredith's steed. She greeted them with the brightest smile Guy has ever seen. _'A splinter of the sun'_... he had to admit, Carrey was an utter fool for saying such nonsense: It was a glory of a hundred suns, and could not be compared with anything less.

"How are you faring, little ones?" he heard her ask as she dismounted "What new mischiefs have you done during my absence?" she winked at the tallest boy, who quickly lowered his gaze, but couldn't stop the smile that appeared on his face.

She was met with a chorus of voices, for every child from the bunch wanted to draw the newcomer's attention. The noise consisted of cries of "Apples", "Rabbits", "Dishes", "Streams", "Games" and many other, which added up to a merry melody. Meredith was standing in the very center of the commotion, her laugh ringing lightly above the little crowd.

"Come now!" she said at last "All stories must have an end, and we'll finish yours when I'm back from my errand, agreed?" with that, she picked up a small, red-haired girl from the bunch and placed her in the saddle. Guy felt unfamiliar warmth making its way into his core, but he waved it off hastily. Now wasn't the time to be melancholic. To tell the truth, there was never such a time for Guy of Gisborne.

"That's not fair! Not fair my lady!" the children shouted, following Meredith, who walked by Kael's side holding his reins.

"Then let's make an agreement, shall we?"

Agreements were a suspicious matter, and so the bunch quieted slightly, anxious to hear out what the lady had to offer. Meredith, however, didn't stop walking so that with every step they were getting closer to the village.

"I'll take care of the business I have in Locksley..." she began slowly, attracting the last shadows of stray attention "...and tomorrow, at the festivities, I'll tell you whichever story you wish – be it about adventures, conquests or friendship – I leave the choice to you".

This earned her yet another outburst of joy and laughter from the children. They agreed to the offer with heart and soul, and broke out into one of their favorite songs.

Kael had to tread carefully because the merry crowd started dancing around and before him - but the animal didn't seem to mind one bit. He raised his head proudly, as if it weren't a little girl he was carrying in his saddle, but a queen, or a princess at the very least.

* * *

The cheerful bunch said good-bye to Meredith after a while, and returned to their games, thinking excitedly of the stories that were to be told the next day.

As she rode through Locksley, every now and then came a warm greeting from the villagers: some waved their hands, some inquired after her health – others simply smiled as she passed them. What amazed Guy the most was that wherever she went, she seemed to bring happiness to peoples' hearts, and smiles to their troubled faces.

When Meredith finally stopped, it was before a small, wooden cottage at the farthest end of the village. She tethered Kael to an apple tree, unstrapped the bags from his saddle, went up to the door and knocked three times. She had to repeat the act twice before someone appeared at last – not at the door though, but from behind the house, where the vegetables grew.

"Day!" exclaimed a tall, fair-haired man "It's so good to see you!" he grinned, coming up to the guest and hugging her as if they were close relatives. Guy found out that he disliked the sign of affection, at least when it involved Meredith. The thought felt strangely familiar.

"I couldn't get away last week. Too many things to do..." she said when they finally separated "I see you've missed me even through such short a time" she added with a playful smile.

"Profoundly, profoundly... now, tell me what's wrong."

Meredith looked at him with wide eyes, quickly hiding the bag behind her back.

"Wrong? What makes you think anything is wrong?"

The man chuckled, shaking his head.

"You keep forgetting how well I know you. Come now, let's go inside. I'll make you something to drink" with that, he opened the door before her, letting her pass.

"Oh, and thank you for the herb supplies. It's unbelievably hard to get Lilarrows* these days..."

The last thing Guy saw before the door closed behind them, was Meredith's face, adorned with a slight, rosy blush.

* * *

_**Dictionary (Welsh): 1. Anwylyd - beloved or dear (in Welsh) 2. **__**Cymru - Wales (in Welsh, like I said in chapter 5)**_

_******Disclaimer:** I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. Lilarrows - an herb that I made up ^^_


	12. Chapter 12: The circle closes

**Author note:** **OK, I just wanted to warn you against a tiny, furry little creature that somehow clawed its way into this story. You'll know of what I speak when you read past the second line ^^**

* * *

"…For the last time: Where is the body?"

Lined up guards were standing in the castle's courtyard – their heads hung low, refusing to look at Isabella, who was now pacing in front of them impatiently. They weren't used to being scolded by any woman, but this one was _a sheriff_, so they had to deal with it somehow. It unnerved them that she should settle in the seat of power so quickly – it's been less than a day since she's been appointed Lady of Nottingham, after all.

"We've got rid of it, like Prince John 'imself has ordered"

Isabella turned on her heel to see whose voice she just heard. It was the chief of the guard, a tall man with broad shoulders and a smug grin plastered to his face.

"Did you, now?" she forced her voice to be calm, as she approached the guard "Then where, pray tell, is the body?"

The man's smirk widened, revealing his incomplete dentition.

"Can't tell, milady" he answered defiantly "Former sheriff's been taken care of, all right. We won't be seein' im again, we won't" the news seemed to brighten up his spirits.

His companions stayed silent, quietly wondering whether they'd like their old master back, now that they've seen what the new one is capable of. Some of them shuddered, remembering the execution she commissioned in the morning, when three of their comrades were unceremoniously hanged, simply because the sheriff had an ill mood.

"Is that so?" Isabella stood in front of the tall man, lifting her head high so that she could look into his big, watery eyes "Well then..."

She grabbed a hold of the guard's collar, pulling him down so that their eyes were level.

"... Either you produce the corpse..." the man tried to wriggle out of her grasp, but stopped suddenly, when met with a feeling of cold steel against his neck.

"...or you die." Whispered Isabella, as she dug the blade slightly into the exposed flesh. A few bright-red drops fell from the cut before she withdrew, letting go of the guard as she did so.

"Am I making myself clear?"

The man was looking at her with undisguised anger, but when he spoke, it was only a quiet echo of 'Yes, milady'. He held onto the newly received wound as he stood straight once more: There were no laughs from his company – they knew better than to show their amusement in front of the sheriff.

Isabella smiled contentedly and raised her voice once more "Now that it's been settled... Firstly, I want someone to search for the arrow that killed Vaisey, and bring it to me before midnight" she turned around and started pacing in front of the guards again "Secondly: Two of you must get to the blacksmith-"

"Me lady..." There was a quiet voice from the end of the line. Isabella's eyes spotted a slightly built guard, who shrank under her stern gaze. He refused to look at her, and instead kept his gaze fixed to the cobbled floor under his boots.

"Me lady... I knows somethin 'bout that arrow..." his tone was as shaky as his whole self, and Isabella wondered what idiot has made him a guard. She supposed it was the tall, ape-like chief that now stood clutching his slightly bruised neck. Imbeciles.

"Speak" she ordered the trembling guard.

He swallowed loudly, looking even more terrified than before.

"Me was the first one to see the corpse after... it happened" he licked his lips nervously "There be only one arrow, and it be embedded in the shoulder."

"So what? I don't care where he's been-"

"The _right _shoulder, m' lady" interrupted the man, looking up for the first time "Bein' shot in the _left _is lethal".

There was silence. Isabella felt a cold shiver of fear run through her core. This couldn't be true! But if it was...

"Are you implying that he's... I mean that he's _not_..." her voice wasn't as steady as she would wish, but the guards were busy looking at the slight man, and didn't notice it. Even their chief stopped worrying about his bleeding throat and was now listening with piqued interest.

"If m' lady would've let me finish" the man in question bowed his head "I'd tell her that I saw three dagger wounds in 'is back".

"What's more" he continued, seeing how his comrades' jaws dropped "Those gashes came from someone standin' behind him, but - mind you - the arrow's been shot from the other direction".

"But how... I've heard that it happened when Hood and his men were already outside" Isabella countered "Or so I've been told" she shot the tall chief guard a glare.

The slight man on the other end of the line gave a thin smile, before answering in a shaky tone:

"Oh it be right, me lady. But me thinks it wasn't Robin Hood that knifed 'im".

Isabella's throat suddenly went dry.

"Me thinks it's someone from the castle" he said with a small nod.

"And I'd swear on me life that he's still here".

* * *

The sun rose from beyond Sherwood's silent depth and into the clear blue sky. There was no evidence of yesterday's rain, except for the tiny beads of dew that clung to the grass and fallen leaves. Hazel groves have grown thick throughout the summer, and now made a sort of a leafy wall, separating the village of Locksley from the trees of the forest. It was a breathtaking august morning, and all people reveled in its warm beauty; All but one.

Guy of Gisborne sat cross-legged behind the green 'fence', looking intently at the small house on the other side. With his raven hair (that was now a complete mess), black attire and a serious, dark expression, he looked like he didn't belong in this place of mysterious beauty. Not to mention the lethal sword lying in his lap.

His eyes were fixed on the house's door, behind which Meredith recently disappeared. It unnerved him that she should take so long to visit an acquaintance. He firmly refused to title the man as anything more.

Soon after he'd settled down on the grass, his conscience started to wake. It usually did, when he was out of sorts and didn't bother to lock it up properly at the back of his head.

"_See where you've ended up?_" he heard a small, but irritated voice say "_Every time you go after a girl, she's either betrothed to someone else, not interested, not available or too hard to decipher_".

"Ah, I forgot you're still there..." Guy muttered, keeping his gaze on the house.

"_I'd rather be anywhere else, believe me_" there was a light noise, something between an annoyed sigh and a whistle.

"_So, what are you going to do now, eh?_"

Guy shrugged, settling more comfortably on the grass.

"What is there to do? I'll wait till she comes out... and then we'll see"

"_Bo-ring_" chimed the voice, and then changed its tone to a more serious one "_I'm starved. What's for_ _eatin'?_"

This time it was Guy who gave a sigh.

"I've got some pretty bad memories, if you'd like"

If consciences could shudder with disgust, this one would be shaking like a jelly.

"_Yuck. Don't even remind me of those. I still got the aftertaste... Hey, ain't that an apple tree?_"

Guy tore his eyes away from the house and looked around, but could see nothing except for the hazel thicket, and the forest trees behind him.

"That's a beech tree" he said, rolling his eyes and returning to his former position.

"_I know it's a beech, but you're looking the wrong way! Look _there_...!_"

You have to remember that consciences have no fingers to point directions, and possess no idea of space whatsoever, so their hints are often inaccurate, at the least.

Guy didn't have the will to search for imaginary trees, and so, returned to observing the house's door. His gaze, however, incidentally landed on a scattered shadow next to where Meredith's steed was tethered, and then moved up, to the tree's branches, which were heavy with ripe, red fruit.

"_Ha! Told ya! I know an apple tree when I see it. Come on now, be a good Guy and get some for me, would you?_"

The apples looked really tempting and Guy suddenly felt how hungry he was. He almost made up his mind to sneak up and take a few, when a though occurred to him.

"It's stealing. And they could see me."

A small chuckle resonated at the back of his head.

"_And you're trying to tell me that you've never stolen anything before?_"

"Aren't you supposed to tell me _not_ to steal? You're my conscience after all" snapped Guy. He was reminded of _why_ exactly he kept the irritating voice behind a closed door. He felt the forecast of a headache coming if the thing didn't stop chattering.

"_Yes. _Your_ conscience, mind. It's only natural that I have quirks of my own_" another burst of laughter "_To tell the truth, I've never thought I'd live to see the day when Guy of wherever-it-was would be scared to go and pick a few apples - really I didn't_".

That was enough.

Guy stood to his full height, letting the sword fall to the ground. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he began to force his way through the hazel thicket. He was half way through the leafy wall when he suddenly froze.

"...Yes John, I believe the prices will be higher this season" said a cheerful female voice.

"You're just saying this to put me down"

Guy managed to quickly withdraw into the bushes, the slight rustle he made fortunately masked by Meredith's laughter.

"_Oof. That was a close one!_" the voice in his head sounded genuinely relieved.

"You'd better be quiet" he mouthed in return, afraid to be heard by the pair.

Meredith and her companion walked towards Kael, who was leisurely nibbling at one of the fallen apples, looking perfectly content.

"_Well,_ _there goes my lunch_" grumbled the small voice, before being soundlessly silenced by Guy.

"See this tree? I told you it would last the winter" said the woman, strapping the now empty bag back to Kael's saddle "You always need to have hope".

"Hope doesn't help anything. It's like going around the obstacle and not dealing with it outright, Day" answered the man apparently called 'John'. His smile withered as soon as the words left his mouth.

She didn't seem to notice the sorrowful look in his eyes, as she stroked her steed's neck lovingly.

"Yet still the winter didn't destroy it."

Her voice was so soft, that Guy could barely hear it from where he stood.

The man sighed and moved closer to her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Day..."

Meredith turned to meet his gaze, and held it for a few moments before she answered:

"Her mind isn't made up yet. She needs time"

"But what if she..."

"...What if she finds someone else?"

John looked away and bit his lip.

"You have to wait for her, John Silverneedle. Be patient. She's a restless spirit, but she'll come around the idea of marriage soon enough" Guy's blood boiled when he saw Meredith reach out and brush a stray lock of blonde hair out of the man's face. It was barely a romantic gesture, but the former lord of Locksley had fire wreathed beneath his skin and just couldn't help it.

"How can you be so sure?" came a quiet question.

"_Wait... Ain't that the John Silverneedle from the girl's story?_ _You know, the one who_-" the voice didn't have the time to finish, as Guy finally managed to push it back to a dark corner of his mind and lock it there safely. For the time being anyway.

"I've known her for long enough to know such things" said Meredith, smiling encouragingly "You just have to wait, and be there for her whenever she needs you".

"You're probably right" sighed John, and a weak smile reappeared on his countenance "Thank you. Now go, or you'll be late".

"_Late for what?"_ thought Guy, irritated by how little he could understand from their talk.

Meredith nodded and – adding a load to Gisborne's perplexion – kissed the man lightly on the forehead, before taking a smaller bag from her steed's saddle.

"Take care of him for me, would you?" she said, gesturing to Kael and beginning to walk slowly towards the forest "I shouldn't take long, but he'd be thankful for some water". As if to confirm his mistress' words, the animal whinnied shortly, and went back to consuming the fallen apples.

"He'll have plenty, don't you worry" answered John, louder this time, as Meredith was already walking away "Take care and don't do anything foolish!".

A melodious laughter was her answer, and before he could say anything more, she disappeared in Sherwood's silent depth, as quickly as if she were a part of the threes' shadow.

John Silverneedle stood for a few moments, shaking his head, with an amused smile brightening his countenance.

"What a woman" he murmured, before turning away and walking back to his vegetable garden "_What a woman..._".

* * *

If the only way he would be allowed to move from this place, was that he understood what had just happened, then Guy of Gisborne would be stuck in the hazel bushes forever. Fortunately, it was pure instinct that made him follow her silhouette, and it was also instinct that appeased the thoughts running rampant in his head.

'Where is she going?' was the most pressing question for the moment. Guy ignored the fact that she had just left her steed, along with her possessions, and stole into the woods, alone, without any protection whatsoever. What's more, without that Silverneedle person - but for that he was thankful. It pained him to see her being so affectionate towards someone that was clearly (clearly!) pursuing someone else's feelings. It was only her wellbeing he had in mind – or at least that's what he made himself believe.

The woman was fast and quiet, and had the advantage of knowing her destination. Guy, on the other hand, had to rely completely on his sense of direction and Meredith's shadow, wavering a few yards away.

"_What was I thinking?_"

After what he felt to be hours, but in fact were only minutes, she suddenly stopped, and Guy only prayed it wasn't because she heard him. Not that he was a religious man, but lately he found it easier to turn to the Almighty with either requests or thanks, whenever he was reminded of His presence.

When after a few seconds Meredith turned around and surveyed the forest depth she left behind, Guy had a feeling she knew that someone was following her. Again, he prayed that she didn't discover who it was. Oh, God would have His hands full of Guy's requests by the end of the day.

When she turned back towards her presumable direction and resumed walking, Guy let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and followed carefully through the thicket.

It wasn't long before she spotted a large oak tree, and turned right – which also meant uphill – and kept walking in that direction until she was standing on top of the rise. Guy reluctantly waved off the temptation to stop his pursue, when he stumbled and would've rolled down the slope if he didn't catch one of the lower branches to stop his fall.

Where was she going?

Again, Meredith started to take turns in the most unexpected places: two times left, three rights, over a fallen tree, next to a moss-covered boulder, and then down the slope on the other side of the hill.

Guy was starting to wonder when this insane stroll will finally end, when the woman came to a sudden halt: There were three rocks, the size of a grown man, standing next to a woodland path, just in front of her. After a closer inspection, Guy came to the conclusion that he's been in that place before – it had a familiar ring to it, and he knew better than to ignore his instinct.

The question was: How did _she_ come to know this place?

Meredith looked around and murmured '_Late again_' before taking a seat at the foot of the biggest boulder. There she settled as comfortably as she could, folding her arms over her chest, and closed her eyes.

"_Late for what?_" Guy was growing impatient by the way people seemed to just throw short sentences for him to pick up, not caring whether he understood them or not. He even considered coming out of his hiding place and revealing the truth to Meredith, not caring what she would say anymore.

The thought didn't have enough time to settle in his mind, before an answer was given to him.

"Well, well. Isn't that our bonnie Lady Day?" Meredith's eyes shot open as she heard someone approaching "I humbly apologize for keeping you waiting".

Guy had to force the air out of his lungs. _No way. There is just no way..._

"It's not the last time you arrive late" she answered, taking a hand that was offered to help her stand up "But I didn't wait long, so you're forgiven".

The chuckle that escaped the newcomer's throat sent a shiver of hatred up Guy's spine, and he had to use all his willpower not to pull out his sword against that man. He gripped the hilt of the sword until his knuckles were as pale as his face.

"I could arrive on time" he heard the laugh still lingering in the man's tone.

"_But where would be the fun in that?_"

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. **


	13. Chapter 13: Encounters

**Author note: I want to thank all of the readers still out there, and also all reviewers!**

* * *

_Robin Hood isn't aware of my existence..._

_His camp lies full miles away from here..._

_I wish to help you..._

Guy didn't remember the last time he felt such anger. Red and black flames were rooting deep into his heart- spreading through his whole being like poisoned fire.

She lied to him. Just when he made himself believe... let himself trust... And now she's collaborating with his greatest enemy. With the man he's hated vehemently for the last twenty years...

He was suddenly reminded of every time someone betrayed him: ghosts of the past encircled him in a suffocating mist of lies and deceit, the figures of Vaisey and Marian most prominent amongst them. For many years Guy was being fed promises of wealth beyond reckoning, great fortune and prosperity, until he could see nothing, but the illusions presented to him by his former master. It became somewhat of a drug - a dream the sheriff would dangle before his eyes every time Guy was close to rebellion.

And there was Marian. The perfect, angelic, sweet Marian, who was much like a wavering flame – beautiful to look at, but impossible to touch without hurting yourself. Had she not promised to marry him, twice, and turned against him when the time came? And had she not plotted behind his back, while he was doing everything in his power to deserve her love?

Despite being considered a man of stone and steel, by all people including himself, there was a part of Guy that would die a thousand times over, every time his trust and devotion were thrown back into his face. '_Betrayal is the worst sin a man can commit_' he remembered his father's words vividly; they were a constant reminder of why he had to keep his heart and soul locked away, for none to see. It has proved to be efficient in the past, but he knew that eventually, he would stumble and fall apart.

But then, when a moment came to succumb to the overwhelming darkness, something beyond his comprehension has pulled him back up, introducing him again to the world of the living. He could see light again; he could feel the heat of the fire and the chill of the northern wind. All of his senses were stimulated to work as never before... he could finally see things that were hidden from his eyes before. He could see _truth_.

As he looked at the man, who represented everything Guy had never had, but desperately wanted, he felt two opposing feelings fighting their way into his burning heart: the receding shadows of hatred and a bright new light of compassion. The latter was so alien to him, and so queer to see, that he took a moment trying to understand its nature. Yes, it was compassion, God knows why, but it was there.

For a time, Guy was torn between leaping from behind a tree and running the man through, and simply walking out and demanding answers for all of the questions that were now flooding his mind. Neither seemed like a reasonable thing to do, and so, he stay hidden behind a thick beech tree, listening to every word, and watching intently as the scene unraveled.

The man was medium height and of slight posture, which made him less strong, though deadly just the same. As his weapons, he carried a short sword and a curved bow, though Guy was sure he could summon a few daggers if the need arose. But most importantly, he wore a big hood, from which his name derived.

"I haven't seen you for months. I hope you are well?" his manner of speaking was light and humorous, but this time, a note of unmistakable anxiety could be heard in his voice.

"Well enough, thank you" came a clipped answer. "But I hear one of your companions has fallen badly ill".

There was a short pause. Guy could hear the silence ringing in his ears and held his breath for fear he should be heard.

"Come; let us not speak of it as if she were already dying..." Robin suddenly sounded less self-confident. "Kate's just feeling a bit... down with something, that's all."

"Then why did you call for me?" she asked in a softer tone, sensing the change in Robin's manner.

A reply could not be provided, as a member of his gang emerged unceremoniously from the thicket. Guy could see he had thin, blonde hair and a dirty bandana draped over his forehead, which was now creased with confusion.

"Master?" he stopped in his tracks when he saw Robin's interlocutor. "Who's this?" he asked, pointing at the woman.

"Meredith, otherwise known as Day" she gave a small, barely perceptible bow towards the newcomer. Whether she was being polite or just playful, neither of the men could tell.

"And you must be... Much?"

Much's face flushed red to the very tips of his ears. He nodded, stepping closer with an outstretched hand (which Meredith shook lightly), and muttering something along the lines of 'at your service' and 'pleasure to meet you'.

That's where Robin finally cut in.

"All right, now that you're done with all the greetings..." his previous uneasiness was quickly covered by amusement "Day, I wouldn't call for you if the matter could be solved otherwise. I believe that..."and again, his expression changed. It looked now as if he couldn't decide how to put his words together.

"...I believe it's because of the wound... it didn't heal properly and... I am aware of the danger..."

There was so much painful anxiety in these words, but the former lord of Locksley could feel none of it: his attention was divided between accusing Meredith of lying, and a stream of mixed thoughts floating towards his greatest enemy. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword until he could no longer feel his fingers. If he could just get close enough to...

"Robin" her voice was gentle - a tinge of compassion intermingled with a harsher note - and Guy suddenly felt the need to see her face. His hiding place, however, only allowed him a very limited view of the three.

"Robin, I am here to help you. Let yourself trust that all will be well"

"How do you know that?" Much chimed in, worry written plainly over his face.

"I do not" she replied simply. "_Hoping_ is not _knowing_. We never_ know_ these things..."

She picked up a small leather bag that lay near the biggest rock and opened it, checking once more if all was put in place.

"Sweet balm, milfoil, valerian..." she muttered to herself "Elixir... and lilarrows... yes, that should be about right" she closed the bag again and tossed it to Much, who nearly dropped it in the process.

"What do I do with it?" he asked, holding the pouch tightly, as if it could slip out of his hand of its own accord.

"The herbs go into boiled water - just a few leaves, mind, and the elixir..." she turned to Robin "How bad is the bleeding?"

He looked at her grimly, not wanting Much to hear the anxiety in his voice if he spoke. Meredith seemed to understand, as she didn't inquire further.

"Just put a few drops into everything she drinks. In three days she should be as good as new!" she said with the brightest, most encouraging smile she could afford. But Much was no fool, even though some deemed him to be pretty close.

"And what if she isn't?" he asked worriedly, fumbling with the pouch in his hand "What if it'll just get worse?"

Robin spoke before Meredith could even open her mouth.

"Well, Much, the sooner Kate gets her medicine, the better for her health, don't you think?"

The blonde man's eyes widened and he nodded eagerly.

"You're right, master, of course you're right. I'll take it to her right away!"

And before any of them could say anything more, he started towards the closest hill, soon disappearing over its green brow. For a minute they thought they could hear faint echoes of 'Thank you', lingering around the quiet depth of the forest.

Robin and Meredith stood silently for a while, eyes fixed on the spot where they'd last seen him.

"He's an eager one" commented the woman, turning to face her companion.

"I'd say foolhardy" replied Robin with a grim chuckle "But then, it's hard to know one from the other."

Guy saw her give a small smile, which didn't reach her eyes. He could tell she was disturbed by something – he waved the thought off impatiently: she was a liar, and a liar she will remain. There was no face, or mask she could muster that would fool him again. And yet...

"Meredith?"

She met Robin's gaze, which was now a mixture of different emotions: none of them were positive, that she was sure of.

"How long does it take to make that elixir?"

It was a moment before she could answer: with Robin Hood things were never simply what they seemed and she could only suspect why he needed to ask that question.

"A couple of days. Why?"

Robin furrowed his brow and kicked a small stone from under the foliage, muttering 'A few days, huh...' under his breath, which was never a good sign. Meredith swallowed her careful curiosity and remained silent, waiting for his reply.

"I was just thinking..." he said slowly "...I sent word to you only last evening."

The woman looked at him with unpleasant surprise. What was he getting at? She mulled the answer slowly in her head, searching for possible cracks and openings, and decided to give her reply when she saw none.

"I had someone else I had to tend to..." her voice was even, though a bit forced. Guy stiffened, clenching his jaw. She was going to tell Hood that he's still alive! _Traitor_!

Just when he felt his blood begin to boil again, he heard the rest of her answer, and thought that maybe she'd leave the news for later passed through his mind.

"Internal bleeding and a few cracked ribs... very nasty case, just a couple of days ago. Had to fix gallons of the elixir to bring him back to health."

Robin gave the woman a queer look and started pacing in perfect circles around the place where she stood: It looked and felt much like a predator stalking its prey and neither Guy, nor Meredith liked the evident comparison.

"I see..." he said in a dangerously low voice "Tell me then, _Day_, how many people in Nottingham have received the same injury as Kate? Because I heard dagger wounds are quite rare among the peasants..."

She gave no reply - merely observed him as he circled around her, sometimes coming closer, sometimes walking further away.

"I've come to the conclusion..." he said slowly "...That you're hiding something from me".

Robin stopped his pacing and met Meredith's gaze, which had been following him wherever he went. Grey, stormy eyes met the defiant, though a bit unsure emerald depths, which were desperately trying to conceal something. He grinned, tilting his head to the side.

"And I must say I don't enjoy that."

Guy was once again torn between two feelings, but this time it was a small tingle of anger, and a prominent amount of anxiety that ate away at his conscious. The former being a result of the whole situation – the latter a reaction to Hood's games and conduct towards Meredith. He had no idea why he would be disturbed by it, and yet – there it was.

"I... Like I said before, there was someone-"

"-someone whom you'd be willing to waste your most precious herbs on, eh?" he interrupted, resuming his circling walk.

"Let's just say I can't believe that you'd do that for a peasant" he added, looking away at the trees.

"You don't know me" Meredith snorted, irritated by his manner of speaking "The medicine was for someone who needed it and – let all saints hear me – I don't regret 'wasting' it to save his life!"

There was a small rustle of leaves nearby, and their eyes immediately darted in the direction of the woodland path, at the foot of the hill. They listened intently for a while, but no other noise could be heard, and the rustle has not repeated itself anymore. The sound seemed to wake the two out of their heated talk, and bring them back to reality. Meredith breathed a silent sigh, gathering the scattered peace of mind, so that she could say what she had to say in a proper manner.

"Do not accuse me of things I'm not guilty of" Robin brought a hand to his forehead, biting his lip "For you may yet find yourself facing the same charges".

She gathered the folds of her dress in her hands and turned to leave.

"It's better if we never speak of it again" she added quietly "Come, let us part friends. No hard feelings."

Robin looked up at her, trying to regain a bit of his former smugness – but all he could conjure at the moment was a faint shadow of a smile.

"No hard feelings" he repeated with a nod "And I'm sorry, Day. I don't know what's come over me"

The smile she gave was more than a mere shadow.

"She'll be all right, Robin. No need to worry".

With that, she started upon the narrow path leading down the forest hill; but after a few steps she turned back and shouted:

"And you better come to Locksley festivities tomorrow! Excellent fun and lots of noble money to _commandeer_!"

"I promise!" he shouted back, a real smile appearing on his tired countenance. There was more to this girl than met the eye. There was something in her that reminded him of tempered steel, yet she could become tame and quiet, or bright and cheerful in the matter of seconds, whenever needed.

Robin sighed and closed his eyes, before turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction.

* * *

This was it. Guy couldn't decide whom to follow after. Meredith was quickly making her way out of the forest, while Hood was just as efficiently walking towards the heart of Sherwood. He wished he could split in two and follow them both, but as he lacked that ability, he needed to make a decision, and soon.

Before, when Meredith made her statement, saying she didn't regret saving his life – for he supposed it was him she referred to – he had let his mind slip a little... along with his sword. The latter hit the foliage with a small rustle, and Guy felt as if whole millennia passed, before the two started speaking again.

"_I thought she hated... well, disliked me... but then again, yesterday evening... no, no she still lied to me about Hood..._" his thoughts were a complete blur, as exhaustion, hunger and pain from his wounds mixed into one, making it almost impossible to think clearly.

It is a common thing, that when you are too tired or distracted, the suppressed feelings are inclined to sneak up on you from behind closed doors and out of dark corners. Guy of Gisborne was no exception.

Before he could re-think his semi-conscious decision, he found himself running uphill as quietly as the fallen leaves would let him, and getting closer to Hood with every passing second. His sword seemed to fuse into his hand, flesh and steel becoming one. His breath steadied; adrenaline rushed through his veins, making his vision clear as never before.

One goal, one thought drove his careful steps. In this moment he became what he believed he was born to be: a silent killer.

Twenty yards. Ten. Five steps. Three. Compassion had disappeared, leaving behind anger and the bittersweet feel of revenge...

He drew a breath, raising his sword so that he would bring it down with an exhale...

And at that moment death turned its head, waiting to take yet another one of Gisborne's victims from the world of the living. It never came.

Robin felt, rather than saw a dark figure follow him. A flicker of fear twisted his insides, as he sensed something approach him: it was dark, and evil, and deadly. His thoughts wandered towards the sword tied to his belt; even though he had a feeling a mere piece of metal wouldn't stop this creature.

Just as he felt the shadow move, less than five steps behind him, he turned to face the danger.

Robin Hood believed he had seen death in that one moment.

He managed to jump back, missing the blade my mere inches, and tripping over his own feet in the process. The next time the sword came down, he wasn't as lucky as that. A stinging pain in his left shoulder roused him out of the state of shock, and he kicked up blindly, hoping he'd hit his attacker.

When he heard a muffled 'ugh', and saw the dark figure fall to the ground, he wasted no time: ignoring the blood that trickled down his arm, he stood up and unsheathed his sword.

"_At least I know it's human_" he thought, as he approached the lying figure, which was already struggling to stand up. When it looked up at him, Robin instantly reeled back, as if hit by an invisible hand.

Impossible.

_Robin! Master! The whole of Nottingham knows! Gisborne is dead! They killed Gisborne!_

_Much, you must've heard wrong-_

_No, master, even the sheriff said so, and the guards, and... Everyone is saying it, so it must be true!_

_Are you sure Much?_

_I've heard it with my own ears! Can you imagine? He's gone at last! Isn't this the greatest news?_

_Gone_. It's been five days since the word spread around Nottinghamshire: the evil murderer, sheriff's right hand, has fallen to the pits of hell at long last. The only concern Robin had, was that he wasn't the one to send him there.

And yet, those piercing, vicious eyes were staring him down at this moment, his owner very much alive.

Guy struggled to stand up, and stood straight, a nameless malice visible in his every feature.

"Surprised?" he grinned wolfishly.

It took Robin a moment to find his voice.

"I thought you were dead."

The black-clad man chuckled, the unpleasant sound sending shivers down Robin's spine. He was suddenly and very clearly reminded why he hated this man so much.

"Well, one of us should be". With that, Guy lunged forward once again, but Robin quickly moved out of his arm's reach. He whirled around and swung his light sword, barely missing his enemy's head. He was slowly starting to regain his composure.

"For what you've done to Marian" he blocked another attack "I'd say you should be the first one to go".

He didn't expect a punch in the gut. It sent him reeling back in pain, and dropping his sword in the process.

"DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK HER NAME!" Guy yelled, letting his sword fall to the ground.

"She was my WIFE!" Robin yelled back, struggling to stand up while he fought the waves of pain. The next moment he managed to move out of the way of another vicious punch, and instead hit Gisborne in the left side with the hilt of his sword. It wasn't a very strong blow, but, surprisingly enough, it made Guy fall to his knees, desperately fighting for breath. What Robin failed to see, was a stain of red liquid that marked the place where his sword made contact with Guy's side.

The black-clad man didn't rise for a while, but Robin didn't have the will to put an end to his miserable life: he looked so broken, so... pathetic, only a trace of his former stealth visible in his features.

"She should've chosen _me_" it was not more than a whisper, a pitiful cry that escaped Guy's lips before he could stop it.

"No, Gisborne" said Robin, breathing heavily "She was mine. It's over."

He turned to pick up his enemy's sword, when he heard him speak again:

"It's not over until one of us dies, Hood!"

But before he could turn to face the danger, he heard a quiet swish, and then a rustle of the leaves under his feet. He spun around just to see his enemy stagger and fall on his back, a small arrow embedded in the side of his neck.

"Gisborne?"

Another gentle swish and he felt a slight sting below his jaw. He touched the side of his neck to find a small shaft of an arrow there and before another thought could pass through his head, he fell to the ground with a muffled 'thump'. Then, everything began spinning, from deep green to pitch black. He lost consciousness soon afterwards.

* * *

******Disclaimer:** I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. 


	14. Chapter 14: Echoes of the past

**Author note: Thank you all, readers and reviewers! You make my day brighter any time you drop a review, a thought, a comment or any ideas about the story plot :) I hope you enjoy this one, though I must say It's totally different from what I planned in the beginning. And so: Enjoy and please R&R!**

* * *

Guy awoke to a soft thud at the back of his head and a weak sensation in his limbs. This didn't feel quite right.

He breathed in slowly, neither knowing, nor wanting to find out where he was. The only thing he desired at the moment was to fall asleep again and wake late in the morning, to a quiet, dark shelter of his room. _I must've spent the night at the tavern..._

The sheriff would not be pleased to find his Master at Arms still in slumber, but Guy couldn't care less: if he wanted things to be done, he'd have to wait until Guy was sober enough to do them.

Another deep breath and the scent of cold, damp stones invaded his nostrils. With it came a cold draught, which brought the feel of the dungeon air to mind. But this wasn't the dungeon. _Couldn't_ be.

He let the damp air roll on his tongue, and was disturbed to find it tasted of salt, somewhat like the sea, but not entirely. There was a tinge of something else – spices? Herbs? Incense? He couldn't place it, yet still it reminded him of something...

And then the thought hit him: The Holy Land! But how did all of this get _here_? He was of course _here_, not _there_... wasn't he?

A sudden splash of icy cold water roused him out of his reverie. _So_ cold it only worsened the headache.

Guy inhaled sharply, as trickles of fluid ice ran down his chest and arms, kicking his nerves abruptly into sensation. His eyes shot open; only, he still couldn't see a thing.

'_What is the meaning of this!?_' he wanted to say, but the only sound that escaped his lips was low growl, like an echo of a thunder. At least he could breathe freely.

Guy struggled to stand up – for he was lying flat on his back at the moment – but couldn't do that either, as he felt something very heavy and very painful weighing him down, pinning his body to the bed. The only bright side he could see to the situation, was the dull pain in his left side that reminded him he was still amongst the living. Though why exactly it hurt him, he couldn't say.

He tried to free himself once more, but instead discovered that the thing binding his movements did not resemble fetters or any kind of chains he'd ever seen – or felt - before. It was more like a strong paralysis, a side effect to a lighter sort of poison, if he remembered well. If he was lucky, then the invisible bonds should subside soon – if not... well, he could stay this way till doomsday, if not longer. The thought made him shiver even more than the icy cold water did. This poison was... _poison_! That was it!

He suddenly remembered Sherwood on a dark night, the moonlight glinting of the steel sword, a cloaked figure, a dark valley full of winged creatures... and then the heavenly eyes of an angel incarnate, green like the deepest sea... and then a song, a tale of a faraway land... a red-headed girl running down the hill...

The memories of the past few days flooded his mind, seeming to rush like a river and giving his mind less than seconds to take it all in.

The news of sheriff's death... the feeling of Sherwood's anxiety... and then the shard of eternity that could be either a start, or the end of all things under the sun... and the sapphire lake... and then the chase through the woods, Locksley... the apples... why did he remember apples?... Then the long walk uphill, the three rocks, and the talk of elixirs-

The wheel of remembrance ended with the moment he had fallen to the ground after fighting Hood. There was a faint memory of a sharp sting at the base of his neck, and then... and then there was nothing. Absolutely nothing, till he woke here. Yes, _here_, but where exactly was that?

"_What is this place?_"

The last thought was half-intentionally said out loud. His voice sounded strange even to himself, it was so raspy and weak from long non-use.

There was a rustle on his left hand side, followed by a muffled groan. So he wasn't the only one being held captive! The thought lifted his spirits a little and he made another effort to move, but to no avail.

"You better not fight it" came a quiet voice from behind him.

Another splash of cold water came unexpectedly; this time he almost choked on it, and desperately fought to take another breath between strangled coughs.

"You shouldn't have done that. He was already awake" another voice spoke, lower and even quieter than the first one.

"But brother, the Yrun Mawr said he should be-"

"I know what he said, brother, no need to remind me. Now, go wake the other one!" the low voice interrupted, coming closer to where Guy lay.

"What... where is this place!?" he growled, the villain effect ruined by a still lingering cough "And _who_ the hell are you!?"

The binding paralysis subsided slightly, and he was relieved to feel strength seeping into his limbs again; slowly, he was regaining control of his body.

"You shouldn't yell. You'll get your answers soon enough..."

The voice was now coming directly from above Guy's head, and the bound man was unnerved to hear it so close, whilst not being able to see whom it belonged to.

Suddenly, the silky darkness covering his eyes gave way, and a blindfold was removed from his vision. Guy cringed: the dim light glinting off the stony walls was enough to blind him after the deep, silent dark.

When his eyes adapted to the brighter environment, a broken gasp escaped his lips.

No. This was most definitely _not _Nottingham.

* * *

"I'm not bein' funny, but shouldn't 'e be back by now?"

Allan sat cross-legged near the fire, warming his hands. The nights in the forest were undeniably cold, and for a split second he wished he was once again in the castle, under a solid roof, with four walls separating him from the night chill. But then his eyes met the troubled faces of his companions, and the thought evaporated from his mind as quickly as it came. He wouldn't leave them. He acted a traitor once, and he didn't wish to do so ever again. Not for all of England's gold, whatever others might think.

Much paced back and forth between the wobbly wicker walls, stopping mid-step only to give a loud sigh, or mutter something undistinguishable under his breath. Allan shook his head. The blonde man was worrying too much over the past few weeks.

"Oh, come on, stop yer walkin' or ye'll dig grooves in the floor!" he groaned, trying to cover his own worry with a hint of annoyance. "It's been dug over enough when ye were upsetting for Kate 'ere!".

"But what if something happened?" It looked as if Much was just waiting for the conversation to start, so that he could convey his gloomy thoughts to the rest. Little John passed a hand over his forehead, furrowing his brow, which was already weighed with exhaustion.

"It's not the first time he is in the forest at night, Much" he said in a quiet voice, not at all resembling his usual, robust one. He avoided meeting the blonde man's gaze, as if it would only worsen the uneasiness he felt deep in his stomach. The trees were disturbed: they vibrated with news, from deepest root to slightest twig and leaf; things were changing, and rapidly. Something was _not_ right.

Kate shifted in her bunk with a small hiss. Much was immediately at her side, trying to take her hand in his in a reassuring gesture, but the snatched it away.

"Where's Robin?" her voice was barely audible over the roaring wind.

Before Much could open his mouth, Allan interjected with a hasty answer: Tuck has gone looking for him, just a moment ago, and would come back any minute now. It was, in fact, over two hours since the monk disappeared in the thick darkness, but Allan though better of it than to worry the wounded woman. She's been given the elixir prepared by some 'great healer' - as Much had said upon returning to the camp - and was regaining her strength with every passing hour. Yet sill she was too weak to go wandering after Robin in the middle of the night, which he knew she would do – _if _she found out how long he's been gone, that is.

"Oh" came a simple answer. She turned her head to face the wicker wall, so that the shadow would cover any evidence of her disappointment. "I thought he'd be here..."

Allan swallowed.

"E'll be back before you know it" he said, aiming to sound cheerful. "And 'm sure he's worried about you too, Kate" he added with a crooked smile. He wouldn't have said it, if he had any doubt about her reaction. At this point he was able to predict her moods – most of the time, anyway – and as much as it pained him to say these last words, he'd do anything to brighten up her spirits. Even admit that there were _others_ who cared for her the way he did... He shoved these thoughts to the back of his mind. Later. Now's not the time, nor the place.

He was brought back to reality by a sudden smile that spread across Kate's pale face; he couldn't help but smile back at the woman.

"You really think so?" she asked, a bit of selfish hope etched into her tone. Oh, he knew she was selfish, even more selfish than he himself had been, but somehow it didn't affect the warmth that spread inside his chest when her face brightened in a smile. He wanted to say 'No', but just as his lips formed the word, he changed his mind.

"Oh, I know Robin" he answered, feigning casualty "He's probably just wanderin' in the moonlight and thinkin' his head off. He'll be back soon" the poorly concealed force he put into the last words made Little John raise his head and look at him at long last. They exchanged worried looks, both uneasy, yet neither willing to voice their fears.

"Yes, you're right. He wouldn't leave me." Kate's head rolled back onto the straw pillow and she closed her eyes. Not before long they saw her body relax, as she slipped into the blissful state of unconsciousness.

Much tore his gaze from her sleeping form, which emanated the peace he so longed for at the moment, and met the gazes of his two companions. His grey, watery eyes seemed to be saying: "_Let us hope nothing bad happened_".

And then, for the first time in a long while, both Little John and Allan seemed to agree with him.

* * *

He was looking at grey, thickly cut stones of a low corridor, which appeared to have no end – its impossible length was devoured by a thick, damp darkness somewhere in the middle, or so it seemed to his tired eyes. His bed stood in a shallow nook, one torch giving what little light it could – but it was not a warm, reassuring flame. It seemed to have no color at all, as if it was only a reflection of the real, living fire; a twin, but a cold and eerie one.

When he craned his neck to the side, he caught sight of another bed with the corner of his eye. Right now he would be happy beyond words if the man lying there was to be Robin Hood. The thought of being alone in this unsettling place made his stomach churn. Even if his only companion proved to be his lifelong enemy.

A cold drop landed on his forehead. He tilted his head backwards and was met with the sight of a stone arch, and a light curtain of water droplets gathered at its edge.

The next one landed on the tip of his nose. It ran down his cheek, stopped at the curve of his mouth, and then fell onto his tongue. Guy furrowed his brow. Was that _blood _he tasted? No, not blood... but the metallic hint was unmistakable. _Iron_...

"Ah, I see that you are awake"

Guy jerked his head back towards the corridor. A grey-clad man stood just beyond the wavering ring of light, a big hood covering most of his head and casting a shadow over his countenance. He held a simple, white pitcher directly between the folds of his cloak, as if wanting to hide his hands from view.

"My lord, Mawr!" he heard the two men behind him exclaim. "We were long awaiting your return!"

"And now that I'm here at last" the newcomer let out a small laugh "Maybe you'll let me talk to our guests, eye to eye? You haven't treated them too kindly from what I've heard" he added, and Guy could swear that even though his voice sounded stern, he was smiling behind the folds of his hood.

He heard a rustle behind him; two silhouettes slipped past him and into the faint light of the only torch. They wore cloaks of the same kind as the newcomer, though clearly made of better fabric, which surprised Guy. Hadn't they called him 'my lord' just a moment ago? And it he was their superior, then shouldn't he dress likewise?

"We meant no harm" one of them said in a quiet voice. "We were only following orders, my lord Mawr".

"You are forgiven. But, pray, don't call me 'my lord', if you will. We're all brothers here, and there's no need for any titles. Now, off you go, I need to confer with our guests in private".

The two men inclined their heads hesitantly, as if holding back the impulse to bow, and scurried off the corridor, soon disappearing behind some hidden door or corner.

It was then that Guy finally found the ability to speak. The appearance of the mysterious lord pushed all the questions he wanted to ask to the back of his head, and now that he got a little accustomed to his presence, they decided to resurface all at once.

He struggled against the invisible bonds, but found that he still couldn't force his body to move; so instead he just glowered at the newcomer, making his voice sound as venomous as possible.

"_Guests_, you say, and yet we're being held like prisoners" he hissed "I demand to know where I am, and _why_ I am here!"

The big hood swayed back and forth, as its owner shook his head lightly.

"Our hospitality has yet to improve, but so are your manners, Guy, son of Roger" He said, stepping into the faint circle of light.

The pale glow fell on peaceful features, neither beautiful nor hideous, but bearing clear marks of wisdom and age. His eyes sparkled lively, and Guy was struck at the thought how vivid they looked, compared to the eerie flames of the torch's fire. There was so much knowledge, _too_ much knowledge hidden behind them, and he had to avert his gaze, feeling that a few more seconds of holding his gaze could burn right through his core.

"Who... what... what is..." he felt the words slip from his tongue in a mismatched tumble, as his mind seemed unwilling to cooperate.

The man... the _lord_ gave a very thin, but bright smile, and the torch seemed to dim even further in comparison.

"You needn't worry. _This is Ddinas dan, The City of White Rebellion_" his irises flamed vivid colors as he removed his hood with a steady hand "_And I am Brother Bard, one of its Whisperers_".

* * *

******Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. **

**PS: If you have doubts about who _Brother Bard_ is, then you can check _Chapter 5: The Beauty of Whitland_, for a further explanation :)**

**PPS: _Ddinas dan_ means "The Under City" in Welsh.**


	15. Chapter 15: Stories old and new

**!WARNING!**

**This chapter consists mainly of the plot stuff, and will be very important in the story. But it's still long-ish and probably less interesting than it should be, but, well... it had to be written. You've been fairly warned ^^**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters.**

* * *

Guy stared with wide eyes at the man standing before him. All of this seemed... surreal - almost impossible, as if he had been thrown into an entirely different universe, where the shadows came to life and characters from old tales walked the face of the earth. For – surprisingly enough – he remembered this name, and the fact that it fell from Meredith's lips when she told him her story. Yet there was still the matter of believing the man to be one with his name – and had he not heard the two servants call him 'Mawr'?

He lifted his gaze from the gray form, to the arch above his head; the cold droplets sill clung to its edge, refusing to fall and shivering slightly in the cold breeze that lingered in the corridor. What did he say this place was called? _Ddinas dan_. It sounded so foreign, and yet he felt like he's known the name since the day of his birth. This was simply too strange to fathom.

"I've never heard of this place" he said grimly, wondering whether the statement was indeed, true.

The man only continued to smile.

"If you did, we'd have a serious reason to be concerned" he spread his arms, a white pitcher still in his hand "As it is, the city is kept safe by its secrecy: There are no maps of this place, and none shall ever be made. Do not worry though, for you are still on – well, under – Nottingham grounds, Guy son of Roger".

_Underground. So the resemblance to the dungeons wasn't all inaccurate_, Guy thought, but out loud he said:

"How do you know who I am?"

The lord raised his eyebrows until they were as bent as the arch above his head, but he didn't answer. Instead, he walked past Guy's bed, disappearing from vision for a moment. There was a soft sound of vessels clanking together, and some liquid spilling into a metal container, before Guy repeated his question, an edge to his tone.

"I didn't answer, because it is too simple" the man sounded almost tired, as if he were talking to an overly curious child "Guy, son of Roger, son of Peter, this meeting was planned since the beginning of the whole matter" he appeared in the ring of light once more, the pitcher in his hand replaced by a metal chalice.

"Drink this" he put the vessel close to Guy's mouth "It should bring your body back to life".

"Not until you explain what 'matters' you mean!" he couldn't do much more than glare at the lord, and turn his head away from the offered chalice "And how do I know it's not some kind of poison? You've done me bloody _well_ with the last one, so why should I trust you?" he wouldn't take anything this man offered, not even if it was the best of England's wine. The thought reminded him of how terribly thirsty he was; he tried not to look at the ceiling, with water droplets coating its surface.

"Oh, you _would_ be dead if we _wanted_ you dead - you can take my word on that" the lord gave a quiet chuckle "But it so happens that you're more useful to us alive, and clear-minded, Roger's son".

Guy's brow knitted into a coal-black line, galloping thoughts almost visible behind his blue irises. At last he spoke:

"You always say 'we' and 'us'... is there more than the three of you?"

The lord uttered a low laugh, taking Guy by surprise – and not for the last time, as he was soon to discover.

"More than myself, Brother James and Horace? Has he really not told you anything? Upon my word, you might not know about The City, but this..." and before Guy could open his mouth to voice yet another question, the man provided an answer, looking at his guest with honest disbelief.

"There are hundreds of us, young Guy, a whole _Order_, if you will. The White Rebellion is an old cause that existed since the times of William the Conqueror! And you-" he pointed to Guy with the metal chalice "-you should know that better than anyone."

"Why _me_? What have_ I_ to do with all of this?" he felt streams of fire and ice blending into one at the core of his being. How did they know the names of his ancestors? And why in the world would they need _him _of all people, when they knew – he was sure they knew very well – where his loyalties lay? It was impossible to fathom how things in the past few days began spiraling into a whirlwind of events, giving him no time to think about his next move, and carrying him away into an unknown destination. It was time to get some answers, or soon he'd run completely mad.

"You really don't know..." the lord whispered under his breath, shaking his head.

"There was a man amongst _the_ _Stormbringers_, whose sword ever flamed, red and black and gold. Loyalty and honor were written across his soul, and a love for truth forged into his heart. He once said that his heir shall inherit his passion for justice, and be free from the sins of his forebears..." the lord who called himself Bard looked at him with solemnity.

When Guy met his gaze, he saw the unfaltering truth behind the vivid irises, and something else, like an inkling of a great tale... a shadow of a mighty mystery. And he felt that, somehow, he was a part of it.

"I knew that man well. He wished above everything else, that his vows to the Order be passed onto his son, and grandson, until the English soil is freed from evil's authority and peace is restored. That man... he was sir Roger of Gisborne, _your father_."

* * *

There was nothing but flames. Lurid, red and yellow flames, reaching for her everywhere she went. When she breathed, a heavy, suffocating smoke made its way into her lungs, and her vision blended into a mix of bright colors. She was trapped inside a ring of fire: there was no earth beneath her feet and no sky above to save her with its tears. She was alone. Forgotten.

The heat was unbearable; malicious flames licked at her skirts and exposed arms, ash and dust catching in her hair, smoke forcing tears from behind her eyelids. There was no escape from this infernal place.

Just when she decided to let the fire devour her alive, the ring broke – for mere seconds – and someone entered the circle. She could barely make out the dark silhouette against the yellow flames; shielding her eyes from the heat, she moved as far back as she could from the shadow, without stepping into the fire.

"_What is this new devilry?_"

Before she could take another step, the creature – the person – was before her. Enveloped in a midnight blue cloak, a hood over his head – and even though he stood less than inches away, she couldn't see his features. Meredith stumbled back, remembering all too late that she was already standing on the edge of the fiery circle... but before she could fall, she was caught in a pair of strong arms, and pulled away from the flames.

As if acting under the newcomer's will, the fire dimmed, and the heat gave way to a light breeze, splendidly cool against her burning skin. She could breathe freely again.

It could've been seconds, hours, or even millennia – Meredith wouldn't know. The steady rising and falling of the chest she was pressed against, the rustle of the silky cloak around her, and the wild beating of her own heart were the only things in her quaking world.

She felt safe.

He wouldn't give her over to the raging element... no, he was a protector – the strength and peace emanating from him were an unfaltering guarantee of safety. The thing which seemed dark and evil at first, appeared to change before her eyes as she held onto the man, drawing calmness from his composure. There was nothing to fear.

As he pulled her to him and embraced her fully, they were fused together, so close that it was hard to tell whether they were still two humans, or already one being.

Meredith moved her hand to rest over his heart, wondering whether their heartbeats have also blended into one- but immediately withdrew, as she felt a thick, warm liquid on the tips of her fingers. She looked down, and saw a trickle of blood flowing down the man's left side, burning bright red as the flames around them.

Her eyes shot to his face, searching for an explanation. Sapphire eyes looked down at her with a sorrow so great and deep, she felt it seeping into her own soul, pooling within her own heart, binding her to him.

_I bleed for the crimes I've committed_. He seemed to be saying. _But until I have hope for forgiveness, I live._

And then, suddenly, the fire rose in fountains and ribbons of crimson flames, clashing together above their heads and falling like a rain of burning embers over the heated ground. Meredith felt the strong arms withdraw, and turned just in time to see the man being devoured by the raging element, the only colder place being his eyes... sapphire depths of sorrow... _seeking forgiveness_...

Meredith sat up in her bed, a stifled cry on her trembling lips. For a few moments she couldn't catch her breath; her mind was still lingering on the brink of wakefulness and sleep. Then the racing thoughts began to settle, one by one, forming the frames of reality.

She brought her hands close before her eyes, searching for any signs of blood, or burns where the fire touched her skin. Nothing.

_It was a dream. Only a dream. _

And yet... it was too real, too vivid to be a mere creation of her worried mind...

Meredith looked down at the form that lay curled under the blankets next to her. Meg was still sleeping, blissfully unaware of her surroundings. It calmed her a bit to see the girl's peaceful features, but it couldn't quench the anxiety that burned deep within her core.

She pushed back the blankets, walked over to the curtain separating her 'bedchamber' from the rest of the hut, and gathered its folds in her shaking hands. The room on the other side seemed dark and cold, the only source of light being a sliver of moonlight, slipping through the shutters – and falling on the empty bed by the window.

_He still has not returned._

* * *

When Robin had first awoken, it was to a sight of two hooded men looming over him like predatory birds – and he had to admit the comparison was deeply unsettling. Fortunately they disappeared after a moment or two, giving him time to gather his scattered thoughts.

The last memory he could summon, was fighting Gisborne in the forest, near the Three Rocks. Fighting the man that_ should_ be dead, wiped off the face of the earth and definitely _not_ walking around and attacking innocent people – for Robin Hood thought himself an example of those.

The whole of Nottingham heard... but surely, there must've been some mistake... and yet, how could it be? There was no possibility of so many people being deceived at once – including the former sheriff...

Robin groaned quietly. His head was throbbing painfully, and he felt a thunder of a headache lingering at the edge of his consciousness, threatening to break out if he didn't stop thinking about the last events. It was all too complicated at the moment.

"_He was sir Roger of Gisborne,_ _your father._"

Robin's eyes shot open. He had been listening to the voices on the other side of the alcove, but didn't really pay attention to them until now. One of them sounded familiar – and not in a good way – but the other he had never heard before. They were talking about things his mind refused to assimilate, and Robin felt that it would be better to keep quiet for now, and try to understand the subject of their conversation. He didn't have to wait long, though.

"Dear me, where are my manners! While I'm talking to one of my guests, the other is left without attention!"

He saw a dark silhouette make its way towards where he lay; the man wore a long, simple cloak and held a metal chalice in one of his hands.

"Who are-"

"Brother Bard, at your service" interrupted the man, a merry note to his voice "And you are Robin of Locksley –_Robin Hood_ that is."

Something between a gasp and a growl was heard from the other side of the alcove, but the man only smiled – a clear, bright smile – and Robin couldn't help but feel a tinge of sympathy for him.

"I believe you've already met" he gestured to Robin with his right hand, and to the other man with his left. "Met, but under less than friendly circumstances, I'm afraid".

That was when they finally saw each other.

Turning his head, Robin saw crystal blue eyes – darkened from the upcoming anger – and staring back at him with undisguised hatred. He fought the impulse to reach for his sword, but there was none at his side, anyway and – as he soon discovered – he could barely move.

"Why am I here?" He hissed, struggling in vain to sit up "And why is _he_ here, too?"

* * *

Guy gritted his teeth. The feeling of powerlessness released new reserves of anger and hatred within him, and the sight of the dark eyes looking back at him with surprise made his insides boil. Imprisoned along with his greatest enemy, and not being able to raise a sword against him... he didn't know what to think.

"You are here for the same reason. Both of you." He heard the lord say "But I won't answer any more of your questions; not until you drink _this_".

Guy saw the suspicious glances Hood gave the metal chalice before downing its contents. He waited for the outcome, half-expecting his enemy to choke on the liquid or lose consciousness again. Nothing of the sort happened.

"Good. You should be able to stand up in a few minutes" Brother Bard walked over to the small table standing in the corner, and poured more liquid into another metal chalice, before returning to Guy's side.

"You shouldn't have any objections to drinking this now, I presume" he put the vessel close to Guy's lips, but the black-clad man still turned his head away from it.

"Why should I trust you?" he said through gritted teeth.

There was a loud sigh from his host.

"Let me put it this way: Do you have a choice?"

He was met with silence.

"Then drink."

The liquid tasted strange– like a mixture of spiced wine, cider and peppermint. He let the flavor roll on his tongue, and soon felt strength seeping back into his limbs. It reminded him of the golden medicine Meredith prepared for him the first day he had awoken in her hut. His face immediately darkened. She was only a liar – graceful and beautiful – but a liar nonetheless.

"Well, now that I can see progress..." Brother Bard clapped his hands together "I should call for some food, for I – personally – am near the point of starvation, and judging by the looks of it – so are you."

He stepped out into the corridor and called twice into the darkness. The echo carried his words far, and before either Robin or Guy could ask another question, they heard quick footsteps, advancing from the other end of the hallway.

Very soon a slight figure appeared from around the corner, carrying a big tray with neatly arranged food: simple, but nourishing. When it came closer, Guy saw that it didn't wear a gray cloak like the other members of the order, but rather simple, light-blue robes, made out of fine material. What's more, it was actually _a woman_. Or a _girl_, to be precise.

"Thank you, Dellyn" Brother Bard gave her a small nod when she put the tray on the table, avoiding eye contact with either of the men "You may go. And would you be so kind as to take what's left of the elixir? We won't be needing it any time soon."

"My lord Mawr" the girl gave a hurried curtsey, snatched the bottle from the table and scurried away in the direction whence she came from, walking as fast as possible without seeming rude.

Brother Bard sighed slightly, shaking his head.

"I apologize for her behavior. You see, Dellyn..."

There was a quiet 'oomph' followed by a sound of shattering glass.

"...Has been a bit disturbed of late..."

Guy thought he could discern a stream of soft curses, carried by the omnipresent echo towards the alcove.

"You let _women_ join your order?" he asked, arching a brow.

"Oh, it's hard to keep them out, if their husbands and fathers are members. But it's only logical that they would want to be at their side" Brother Bard walked over to the table, and began to arrange food on three plates the girl has also brought. "You see, most of them aren't given the tasks we, men, have to perform. It's been a long time since a female was considered a member of _the Watchers_-"

"Hold it. You've said something about 'the Stormbringers' before." Guy lifted himself on his elbow, immensely happy that his body was returning back to normal. "And before that, you've mentioned some other name. So what are you called in the end?"

The lord shot him a disbelieving look, before nodding very slightly, and returning back to arranging food on his platter.

"I keep forgetting you _don't know_. Well, in a nutshell, the Order is called just that, because we have no need of another name. But there are three divisions inside the Order: The Whisperers, The Watchers and The Stormbringers. The first group consists of eleven – once twelve – men, who govern and discuss all matters important to the community. What's more, all of the Whisperers are also considered members of the other two groups, and so, work under the same laws and privileges. The second division – The Watchers – is mostly used for gathering information in all parts of the country, and bringing them to the council. They are given second names to use inside of the community, in case someone betrays us, which, fortunately, isn't often. The last division is called The Stormbringers. Their task is the core, and the reason for our Order's existence" Brother Bard paused, his hand half-way between a loaf of bread and a metal plate. He seemed deep in thought, as if looking into his own heart for search of answers. Neither Guy nor Robin broke the silence.

"Since the times of William the Conqueror" the man resumed his story after a moment "We have fought to keep England... and the neighboring kingdoms, safe from corruption and greed of its lords. The Stormbringers were knights, who feared neither darkness nor suffering, as long as they served their cause, which was to protect the righteous kings, and... Overthrow the evil ones, who usurped the throne. Many times we have dealt a great wound to our enemies, but in the last few years we have found ourselves... leaderless. Hundreds of men, Watchers and Stormbringers, began to lose hope, and scatter over all four kingdoms. Since the death of our last real hero, there were none to take his place. No next Yrun Mawr, no flaming sword to lead us..." his voice was gradually becoming more and more quiet, until it became a barely audible whisper, and for the first time since they met, Guy saw real sorrow behind the man's eyes.

"I thought you were the one they call Mawr" he said, sitting up and stretching, to quicken the process of regaining his strength. The spiced liquid was indeed a great medicine.

"They do that without my consent" came a quiet answer "Those who remained loyal, still hope for a leader to come forth. But I am not the chosen one."

Guy saw Robin sit up as well, on the other side of the alcove. He thought for a while, before asking the question he had wanted to ask since he found himself in this place; though he wasn't sure whether he wished to know the answer anymore.

"Why am I here?"

Brother Bard rested his hands against the wooden table. It creaked softly, and the sound echoed between the stony walls of the corridor, multiplied a hundredfold.

"It's quite simple, really, though complicated". He sighed, returning back to his former, composed self, and turned to face them both, a broken smile on his lips.

"We want you to find us a leader."

* * *

Breath escaped them for a few moments, but the silence was thick with unspoken words. A _leader_? Why would they ask _them_ of all people?

With the corner of his eye, Guy noticed a single water droplet that fell from the arch above their heads. He could almost hear it drip onto the cold stone and shatter into a dozen smaller drops. Three seconds, and another one followed. And then another.

"How, exactly, does this concern us?" Robin said slowly, watching the same movement from his side of the alcove. There were many things people asked of him these days, including stealing from the rich, helping in a search of a lost relative... but _this_! Well, this was unexpected, to say the least.

"We're not a part of your... _Order_, and we know near to nothing about it. These are your problems, and should be yours alone to solve – we won't interfere. "

Brother Bard raised his eyebrows as if in surprise, and yet there was tension about the movement.

"Oh? _Ours alone_ you say. Tell me then, young Prince of Sherwood" he leaned against the wooden table, boring into Robin with his piercing gaze "Why should things happening in the Aboveground concern _us_? We could've just as well lived here, safe and sound, far beyond the world's reach. This City runs for miles and miles, delving deep into the rock Nottingham was built on. We _could've_ survived through the ages, without as much as raising a finger to help others change this country. We _could_..." his eyes narrowed, and voice became more solid, unyielding like stone "... but we didn't. Members of the Order have risen, countless times, from the ashes of war – fighting the usurpers, helping the helpless, and laying down their lives in everyday battles, alongside _your_ people... for they believe it is also _their_ people - _their_ brothers and sisters. You may not have seen us, or didn't know it was us at the time, but we _are_ present, whenever there is need for consolation from suffering and protection from foe. We will die for _The One_ _Whom We Call King_; we will die for this land... and we'll do it proudly. Leaderless, if that is what's destined for us. But know this -" the man turned, so that he could look at both Robin and Guy. His eyes were like two flames, burning with indescribable passion and clarity.

"When we fall – and without a leader it will happen soon – England will fall with us."

Robin averted his gaze, feeling that somehow his arguments seemed pale and uncertain, when put up against this fervent speech.

Guy, on the other hand, seemed deep in thought and kept silent, which was very unlike his former self. His blue eyes didn't leave the arch above their heads, watching the unending cycle of falling drops with a queer interest.

Brother Bard turned to him, a stern look carved in the aging features.

"England, young Guy: _Your_ country. The wave will rise steep and dark, devouring all of its cities, be they great or small. It won't let Gisborough be."

The black-clad man shuddered very slightly, but it might've been from fear as well as the cold air of the underground. When he spoke, his voice was raspy from long non-use, but steady all the same.

"You're mistaken. The tide might be great, but Gisborough _will_ prevail."

But the old monk heard something, that even Robin Hood couldn't understand: desperation, cold and dark, resonating deep within those words, coming from behind a closed door to the man's soul. He feared loss far more than death itself. And now he was treading on unsteady ground which could escape from under his feet at any moment, sending him falling back into the abyss. It was all too familiar to Brother Bard; many years ago, he saw the same darkness in another man, very stubborn, and very much resembling the one he was looking at right now. He smiled bitterly at the memory, his voice becoming softer as he spoke.

"Nothing can escape the chaos of war, young Guy. Even the beloved bastions of our childhood will crumble and fall, if we do not fight to defend them..." he suddenly found it hard to breathe, as images of his own land appeared in his mind's eye, but he pushed them back, forcing the last few words in a low whisper:

"That is what your father believed."

Guy's eyes shot to the monk, their expression unreadable. He clenched his jaw and fists until they bled white. His father... the role model, the perfection itself, righteous and immortal... the man he'd always wanted to be. But... somehow... _couldn't_.

"He believed in the law" he said, barely above a whisper. Guy didn't know what to think; the world has turned upside down, and he couldn't be certain of anything anymore. The feeling made him sick to the core.

"He _believed_ in _justice_. And _eternity_, and _love_. You are _not_- and will never be _him_, young Guy" said Brother Bard "Though you two might yet prove to be a lot alike."

The monk was pouring as much strength and compassion into his tone as he could afford. It was what this man needed right now. This, and a long while to rethink all of what's been said. But now was not the moment for reverie.

"But enough of that for now. We have little time till dawn, and still haven't gotten closer to the point of things-"

"-Isn't the request for finding a leader the final point?" Robin asked, as if waking from a deep trance.

Brother Bard forced a smile.

"There are other things concerning the matter. More than you suspect, I think..."

He was suddenly reminded of the food that lay on the table, and the crooked smile was replaced by a genuine one. He took the previously prepared plates, giving one to Robin, who looked at the victuals with a hungry eye, and the other to Guy, who seemed deep in thought again. The monk furrowed a brow. Maybe there was something in the sleeping arrows that made him so silent? He'd have to ask the Watchers later. And maybe speak with Dellyn afterwards; there were a few things they needed to set straight, and soon.

"I am not agreeing on _anything_ until you give a proper explanation" growled Guy, but it came out rather weakly, as his throat was dry as dust. "And maybe not even then" he added, taking the offered plate, and eyeing the food cautiously, while Robin was halfway through his portion already.

"Of course, of course..." the monk sat on an old chair that seemed to have appeared out of nothingness, putting the metal platter on his lap. He gave a short, very matter-of-fact sigh, before resting his eyes on a lone grape that lingered on the edge of his plate.

"Now. Before I say anything, I want to see how much you know already. What can you tell me about your brother, Archer?"

Robin stopped mid-bite, while Guy furrowed his brows.

"To whom are you referring?" he asked slowly.

"I have no brother... and neither does _he_" added Robin.

Brother Bard kept looking at the stray grape on his plate, his expression incredulous.

"So you don't have any knowledge of your mutual sibling?"

"_**Mutual **_sibling?" they asked in unison, one voice low and dark, and the other melodious, though both immensely confused.

"Ah!" the monk took the round fruit between his thin fingers "I thought I'd have to go further back. No matter, there is still a bit of time".

"Time?" Robin didn't seem satisfied with the sentence. He hated when people spoke with such enigma.

"Yes, but not _too much_ to spare, so listen carefully..."

And so, Brother Bard began his tale, throughout which he had to stop many a time to answer an abundance of questions, but eventually, they made it safely to an end.

There was now something that linked them to each other; a bond, which both of them were surprised to discover, and which neither was willing to accept.

* * *

"I don't believe you."

Guy's expression was hard and unyielding like the stone wall he was leaning against. His hands now resting on the bed clenched and relaxed alternately, without the need to involve his will. What was one to do if he learned about the existence of a sibling? He didn't know what was worse: The fact that his mother gave birth to an illegitimate child, or that he actually _shared_ a brother with his worst enemy.

Guy lifted his gaze from the floor and looked at Robin, who was sitting on the opposite side of the alcove, absently drawing circles on the empty plate with his finger. The man who took Marian from him... they could _not_ have anything in common. It was unthinkable.

"This tale is a lie" he added defiantly. "I don't know why you're telling us this, for it simply _cannot_ be true."

Brother Bard gave a loud sigh, before putting his now empty plate back on the table.

"Truth will remain truth, whether you believe it or not, young Guy" his voice was tinged with tiredness, though he tried to sound as lively and awake as ever. "Archer is the son of Lady Ghislaine and Sir Malcolm, born eighteen years ago on the eve of Midsummer's Day, in Locksley. Of that I have no doubt."

A moment of silence.

"Where is he now?"

The question came from Robin, and when Guy looked up again, the man appeared suddenly more interested in the matter, as if its sense had just gotten to him.

"You believe this?!" Guy snorted. "Are you blind or just plain foolish to believe such nonsense?"

"And does your ego obscure your hearing?" Robin shot back, glaring at the black-clad man.

Guy bared his teeth in a wolfish grin.

"No more than yours does your thinking."

Before Robin could think of a proper retort or resort to fisticuffs, Brother Bard cut in sharply.

"If you two are going to fight, better do it after I've finished my story. I have no intention of repeating myself, and there's not much time left till dawn."

Guy crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look as serious and dark as possible.

"Whatever more you might have to say, I won't believe it anyway."

The monk took the platter from Robin, coming up to Guy next. When he reached for the still full plate and saw the defiant expression the man wore, for a split second it looked as if he was tempted to hit him with it. Hard enough to shake reason back into place. He didn't do that though, but instead returned to his former place, putting the plates on the wobbly table at his side.

"To answer your question, young Robin... we can only say he is in Nottinghamshire at the moment. He's constantly moving about and changing names, so it's close to impossible to track him. But enough of that now!" he reached into the side pocket of his cloak, and took out a round, silver medallion, intertwined with a delicate chain of the same material. The dim light of the only torch refracted from the smooth surface, lending the piece of jewelry an eerie glow. It caught Guy's attention, and he leaned closer to see it better. He noticed there was a bird with strong wings, sharp claws and a crooked beak carved in rough, dark lines on both sides of the medallion. Where had he seen that pattern before?

"_Inferre, praestat quam accípere iniúriam_" the monk read the inscription that ran around the edges in a delicate writing. "_It is better to do harm, than have it done to you_" he held out the medallion to Guy, who blinked with surprise, before taking the offered trinket.

"You might find it familiar, I presume."

Guy gave him a puzzled look, before getting to his feet and walking up to the place where the torch was hung, to see the piece of jewelry better. When the warmth-deprived light fell on the carved eagle, he noticed small, silver drops of blood covering its crooked beak.

His eyes suddenly widened, and he gave a muffled gasp, moving the medallion as close to the light as possible, searching for further proof of his discovery.

"It's _his_ seal... It's... how did you come by this?"

Brother Bard inclined his head, giving a loud sigh.

"Yes. That is Lord Vaisey's seal" he shrugged "But as to coming into its possession... I didn't. It still belongs to its rightful owner."

Robin gave a strangled, choking sound, and also stood up, to take the medallion from Guy and see the trinket for himself, but the monk motioned for him to sit down. He didn't obey, but neither did he step closer to the light, and the black-clad man now holding the mysterious piece of jewelry.

"There are only two people entitled to wear the official seal of a family" Guy said quietly, turning the medallion in his hands over and over, as if expecting it to change its shape.

Brother Bard nodded, his eyes fixed on the cold stone floor.

"That is correct, young Guy. _One_, now that the other had passed away. _One_ person. The only secret the former sheriff had kept hidden from the world's eyes. What's more; it has proven to be a powerful link to the usurper brother of our great King, Richard. That secret, if placed in righteous hands, can gain us victory in the battle for Nottingham – but if the enemies find it first, we will be lost."

Both Robin and Guy looked at him expectantly, forgetting all of the previous quarrels, their thoughts oscillating from one extremity to another, trying to find a reasonable explanation for what was to come.

The monk exhaled, and slowly raised his eyes to meet the two men's gaze. He looked tired, as tired as an old, faltering priest could look; yet still his hope burned dimly, steadily within, reflecting in his grey eyes, brightening the stern countenance.

"There is one, who can save this city from its doom" he said slowly, quietly. "A woman, yes, _a woman_. Esmé of Lincoln – _sheriff Vaisey's beloved wife_."

* * *

**PS: Congratulations to all those who read this note, because it means they have survived through this chapter. Yay! :)**


	16. Chapter 16: Hope for the hopeless

**!WARNING!**

**Like the previous chapter, this is mainly the plot stuff. I won't be offended if you skip this one :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. **

* * *

Dellyn didn't want to spy on the three men's conversation. Truly, she didn't. But eventually her will proved inferior to her instinct; it told her to get to the bottom of the mystery, and she complied without struggle.

"Sheriff Vaisey had no wife" it was the black-clad man's voice "He could never share the affections of another human being".

She heard a weary sigh, and figured Brother Bard was growing tired of answering all of the questions, while there was still a story of great meaning, waiting to be told. She secretly wished that the two newcomers would just listen quietly, but - if she understood correctly - they had it in their nature to say whatever was on their mind, and would not stay silent.

Dellyn snorted silently. _English_. She was sick of the way they assumed the world was their rightful property. And she fought for men like_ those_. She'd have to set her priorities straight, for throughout the years they got terribly bent and tangled.

"And yet, we know that _he_ _has_ taken a wife. But let me start from the beginning..."

Dellyn pushed her ear closer to the wall of the other alcove, less than few feet away from where the three men were sitting. She had been listening for a long time, careful not to let her attention slip. She was exhausted after a day of hard work; but the heavy feeling of guilt was constantly tugging at her conscience, and Dellyn refused to retire. Not until she's found out more about the man she'd killed. Be it because of an accident or on purpose. Be it a rightful man or the devil incarnate. She _had_ _to_ know.

"Try to imagine a warm, June day, some twenty years ago, and a festival, taking place in one of England's most prosperous cities..."

* * *

_There were garlands of colorful flowers at every window, green chains plaited out of wild grass hanging between the narrow houses and above streets crowded with merry people. The steady rhythm of footsteps on the cobblestones, the cheerful music and singing blended into one, rising in a sweet wave that floated throughout the city, flooding it with good humor and laughter. All men, rich and poor wore smiles on their faces – all but one._

_A young lord stood in one of the doorframes, looking discontentedly at the endless chatter and merriment the common people reveled in without sense. To him it appeared plain and foolish- to spend a day on dancing around the streets, with no purpose or task to perform whatsoever. Ever since his early days, he was unable to grasp the concept of being joyful just for the joy itself. It may've been the fault of his father, the stern Old Lord Vaisey, but it might as well have been the fault of his character, hard and unyielding; Sometimes even sinister. _

_One of the jesters leading the crowd to the main market tripped and fell to the ground; the bucket of green apples and pears he was juggling just a moment ago fell along with him, the fruit scattering in all directions. The other jesters picked up their companion, just to throw him back down into the mud, to the common delight of the crowd._

_Lord Vaisey gave a quiet laugh. The fool had been fooled. Humiliated. Now _that _was a reason to be amused._

_After the swarm of dancers and jugglers passed by, and the noise began to recede, he decided to take a stroll around the quieter streets of the town. He'd been a guest here only for a few days, but he could hardly keep to his room in the evenings. Back at home, in Cirencester, he'd go about the woods, maybe near the river to get some peace after a day of running the family manor. It's been a hard task since the passing of his father three years ago, and there were also others who wished to claim their right to Vaisey estate, such as cousins, illegitimate sons, etc. He was tired of it, tired of having to defend what was supposed to be _his_ by birthright. Vultures. They won't get anything, not even one pebble from his pond; he'd make sure of that._

_A chill wind blew from the north, and Young Vaisey was shaken out of his gloomy thoughts. He shuddered and looked around anxiously. He'd wandered much further from the inn than he intended to, and was now standing in the middle of a narrow street he didn't seem to recognize. He's not lost – never that. Vaiseys simply _do not_ get lost._

_He gathered the folds of his cloak in his hands, sighed, and started to walk in the direction he thought he'd come from. But it wasn't as simple as that._

_The city was more complex and cunning that the young lord cared to admit. Streets led up and down, left and right, sometimes straight, and sometimes turning in most unexpected directions. This wasn't the civilized southern realm he's gotten used to; this was _the north_, where everyone seemed to take pleasure in making things ever so complicated._

_After a long while of what could be described as walking in circles, he found himself standing on a small square, more likely a courtyard, for it was the shape of a triangle, and had a small, crooked well in its middle. He could tell by the way the houses leaned over the narrow streets that it was the eldest part of the town, inhabited by commoners and merchants, from what he knew. There were strings attached between the windows of neighboring houses, weighed under a wide choice of colorful clothes, mostly green, red and yellow._

_Suddenly realizing how thirsty he was, he stalked over to the well and reached for the windlass, but found that there was no bucket to be found anywhere near. Swearing under his breath, he sat on the dusty ground. He looked around for signs of any inhabitants, before leaning against the well, and closing his eyes. This was so far the worst day of his stay in Lincoln: Arriving just before the festivities started, having to endure them for days and then getting lost in the middle of the celebrating city. Yes, he was lost, though it pained him greatly to admit it._

_He was awoken by the creaking of the windlass. The young lord hadn't even noticed when he had fallen asleep. _

_He opened his eyes and was met the sight of a common woman, drawing water from the well he was resting against. She didn't look at him, and behaved as though she had not noticed him. It annoyed him, for he wasn't used to being treated as if he were absent, or invisible. He cleared his throat._

"_Give me water, woman" he demanded._

_She did not turn, nor did she cease to work the windlass._

"_I said-" he was cut off by a melodious voice._

"_I heard you, dear sir" it said._

_Vaisey finally got to his feet. He rested his hand on the well crank abruptly, stopping the movement._

"_Then do as I say" he hissed, looking at the woman for the first time._

_She had long, black hair which she wore in a simple braid, eyes that reminded him of almonds, both from shape and color, and skin a shade darker from his own. Slight in posture and not possessing any kind of great beauty; a simple, common woman. Though for a commoner she had an immensely soothing voice, and her gaze was light as a morning breeze. She never met his eyes though._

"_Give me some of that water" he repeated, drawing closer. He expected everything... but not a burst of ringing laughter._

_Her dark eyes looked at him with amusement. "You haven't said 'please' dear sir. This word is of common use here, in Lincoln, if one wishes to obtain something from another."_

"_I may do as I _please_" Vaisey answered curtly, stressing the last word. The woman was unnerving._

"_So may I" came a retort, swiftly followed by polite smile "And it _pleases _me to be treated as an equal. Good day to you, sir" her head inclined slightly, and he supposed it was meant to be a bow. Then she turned and began to walk away._

"_I could have you hanged for this!" he shouted, following after her. _

_He heard her quiet, melodious laugh. "Oh, I know, sir" she turned back and bowed her head once more in the same manner "But firstly, you'd have to lead me to the guards, and I believe – correct me if I am wrong – that you have lost your way"._

_Vaisey's fists clenched at his sides, eyes narrowing dangerously "I know perfectly well where I am, woman" he looked over his shoulder at the three streets leading in different directions, and bit his lip "But this city is a true maze" he muttered. _

_His companion rested the water bucket on the dusty cobblestones. It hit the ground with a dull thud, which echoed around the triangular courtyard and in the narrow streets. This part of town looked unnervingly deserted, and as much as Vaisey enjoyed solitude, the ringing silence set him on edge._

"_To get to the main market you need to take the middle street" the woman pointed to the widest of the three passages "When it splits into the eastern and southern quarter, take the southern one. You'll see a house of white stone standing at the corner – if you turn right, you'll see the market in the distance" she ended, picking up her bucket again._

_The young lord looked back and forth between the three roads and the woman. He couldn't decide whether he was angry, tired, thirsty or thankful. The last one seemed too ridiculous an option._

"_And how do I know you're not trying to get me lost?" he asked cautiously._

_He was met with a short laugh._

"_Aren't you lost now, dear sir?" with that, she turned and disappeared in the deepening shadows of the nearby backstreet. The manner of her exit didn't leave Vaisey much time to think._

"_Who are you?" he yelled after her, not caring how loud._

_Silence. And then..._

"_A merchant's daughter, my lord, Esmé of Lincoln" Came a quiet answer, multiplied by the echo, and then he heard the sound of doors closing. _

_When he walked around the corner, he could see nothing but a deep purple shade, settling on the dusty cobblestones. There was no sign of the woman, as if she was just a figment of his imagination, conjured by the tired mind. But still, the young lord did not have such hallucinations. _

_All of this was too ordinary to remember, yet too peculiar to forget. That insolent commoner... his lips twitched unwillingly when he walked past the well._

'_And I'm still thirsty' Vaisey thought, directing his steps to the middle street._

"_But if you were trying to fool me" he muttered, watching small clouds of dust rising from beneath his feet "You are going to pay. Oh, and am I going to enjoy this payment..." _

_He didn't have the time to finish this thought. Before he could count to a hundred, he was looking upon a familiar sight, the music and laughter echoing around him in a sudden cacophony..._

* * *

"Stop right there" Guy pinched the bridge of his nose. "_That_ was the woman he chose to be his wife? A merchant's daughter?"

Brother Bard nodded, gathering his patience. "Yes" he answered simply.

"A commoner?"

"Yes."

"Someone who laughed at him and then just..." Robin motioned to the murky corridor "...left?"

"That is correct."

Guy gave a low, annoyed chuckle and folded his arms across his chest. _This was getting more and more ridiculous_.

"Was this even allowed?" asked Robin, quirking a questioning eyebrow "Choosing a mate from the lower class, I mean".

The monk sighed wearily, looking at both men with a mixture of impatience and something else, which neither of them could define.

He inclined his head "Allowed – no. Doable – yes".

And before either Guy or Robin could ask another question, he resumed telling his story.

* * *

_After returning to the inn, Vaisey couldn't stop thinking about the strange woman he'd met, as her appearance cut through the long line of dull days with a single ray of sunlight; disturbing, and yet extremely refreshing. He found himself wanting to wander off and find her – for a reason he didn't wish to understand – but instead kept focusing on his work. It simply _had_ to be done, no matter what other thoughts circled his mind, ever hindering him from duty. _

_The young lord tried so hard to keep his focus that before the evening came, he resembled a walking storm-cloud, lashing out at everyone who came near or dared to ask him a question. Pity could not be spared even on his younger sister, usually the last person he'd want to upset. _

_At last, when the whole household left to join yet another day of celebration, he slipped away unnoticed. It was much harder to find the same route he'd walked the previous day, but eventually he saw a triangular courtyard come into view. The well stood as it did before, stone houses leaning over it, their shadows melting with the falling dusk. _

"_Lost again, dear sir?" _

_He stopped dead in his tracks, when he saw a familiar figure approaching from the opposite direction. Just the same as yesterday, she rested a wooden bucket against her hip, her eyes watching him with sheer amusement. _

_Vaisey suddenly found himself unable to produce a logical explanation. Why on earth had he come here? _

"_You..." he fought the urge to just turn and walk away, while he still had his dignity. And yet, the situation he thought about throughout the day drew him with its strangeness and simple complexity. Too hard to explain._

"_You... come here every evening?"_

_He could've done better than that. This wasn't even his usual voice! It lacked the commanding, stealthy note he was widely known for. And that bit of cruelty, his personal pride... it dissipated, vanished into thin air. Queer indeed._

_The woman – _Esmé_, he reminded himself – walked over to the well and simply started working the windlass. She smiled silently all the while. The same smile that yesterday unnerved him was now different – as if a bit gentler, softer._

"_I asked you-" he was cut off again, much like last evening._

"_Are you thirsty?" the woman didn't look up at him as she poured the water from one bucket to another._

_Vaisey blinked. _

"_You're offering me water?"_

_He heard her give a quiet chuckle "That is why I asked"._

_Hesitantly, he walked over to the place where she was standing. Esmé handed him a simple cup, before moving to sit on the cobblestones, back to the well. She held her own vessel in her hands, and he noticed for the first time how thin and delicate her fingers looked. Merchant's daughters had no such hands, he thought. But then again, who else could she be?_

"_You must be tired" his eyes caught a half-smile that escaped her lips. She motioned to her side, inviting him to sit beside her on the ground._

_Much to his own surprise and not entirely sure why, he obeyed, resting his head against the cold stone. The endless fight for his heirloom and attempts to keep all of his wealth together, had tried him beyond comprehension. He didn't know rest or sleep since the day of his father's death – and now, he was finally letting his tiredness show. _

"_I... I ought to thank you" it was easier to say it than he thought. The fatigue and the unusual circumstances seemed to bend his defenses, when he no longer had the strength to pretend the mighty, unyielding lord. "You've shown me the right way back, yesterday. And today you've given me water, though I hadn't asked for it... Are you not afraid of me?"_

_She looked up, but didn't meet his eyes._

"_Why should I be?"_

"_Well, firstly, I am a stranger" he took a sip from his cup, finding that the water tasted somewhat sweeter than back at the inn "Secondly... I threatened to hang you, just yesterday"._

_Esmé chuckled, her hands tracing circles on her cup's wooden edge._

"_That you did. But you were lost back then, and restless. It would've been hard not to take pity. And as to being a stranger..." she looked straight at him for the first time, her usually amused eyes becoming more serious "I have given you my name, yet still I do not know yours, dear sir"._

_He cleared his throat._

"_It's Henry" he said simply. He wouldn't give her his family name just yet. The Vaiseys' infamous greediness and some other 'noble virtues' were known far and wide, even in the far, northern towns such as Lincoln. _

_Esmé inclined her head slightly._

"_Shouldn't there be a 'lord' or 'Sir' somewhere there?"_

_Vaisey felt his lips twitch, and allowed himself a thin smile._

"_Not for you."_

_Her smile was bright, and eyes full of laughter when she turned to face him. There was something in the manner she behaved, something incredibly light and careless – yet peaceful and balanced, which made her character all the more interesting. _

"_Henry, then" she pointed to his almost untouched cup "You may come here whenever you feel thirsty, or restless. There's plenty of room by the Well of Merchants"._

* * *

"_Vaisey promised his new acquaintance that they would meet at the well every evening before dusk. He had kept his promise, and even persuaded his party to stay in Lincoln a few days longer, so that he could meet his new found friend. No one suspected what the young lord was up to – and neither did they wish to question his motives; he was known for his unpredictability, after all._

_The days passed, and the two have grown more and more acquainted with each other. Vaisey discovered after a while, that he actually liked the woman, and didn't want to go back to his family estate anymore. He saw that Esmé understood him, or at least tried – though there were times when they quarreled, of course – and he found that listening to someone else's stories wasn't such a boring thing after all. _

_As Esmé told him, she was the daughter of one of the lower-class merchants, who sold colorful cloths to the local traders. She and her mother helped with the family business, sometimes doing embroidery, other times fetching things for Esmé's father from nearer and farther parts of town. That was why she knew her way so well, and - as she herself had said, jokingly "Could easily find all the roads, all the houses and squares even on a moonless night in the middle of a snowstorm". _

_Apart from helping her parents, she had to look after her three sisters and a younger brother, whom she loved beyond all reason. _

_In turn, Vaisey told her about some of the better memories from his childhood years, carefully avoiding any mentions of his status, and still reluctant to reveal his family name. 'Not just yet' he told himself 'Not just yet'._

_When the day of their parting arrived, they found it hard to say their goodbyes. They've grown so attached to one another, that it felt almost unnatural to think that this meeting might be their last._

_But just then, Vaisey – the unpredictable, young spirit that he was – thought of a solution. _

_To say it shortly, he asked Esmé for her hand, and she – thinking him to be a person of similar status – accepted his proposal. It was the start of something that would last many years, and which would be the cause for a much more serious matter._

_After Vaisey had told Esmé his full name – which wasn't long after the proposal – followed by a long, fierce conversation, they decided to face the world, ready for its disapproval and vehement ridicule. Somehow, they convinced Vaisey's feudal lord to give them his blessing, and managed to persuade Esmé's parents that not all of the Vaisey family was greedy and evil, and that their daughter's well-being will be taken care of._

_They got married in mid-September, and the young lord could proudly introduce his new mistress to his estate. _

_Their happiness was unspoiled – and multiplied a hundredfold, when a male heir was born to them-_

* * *

"-There was a child?!" Guy stood up abruptly, blood rushing in his veins "Vaisey has a son?!"

"_**Had**_" Brother Bard stressed the word gravely. "Now sit down and let me speak, or we'll never get to the end of this story..."

* * *

_The boy was born healthy and strong. All of the servants adored the young heir, the relatives that came to visit were simply overjoyed to see him, and the parents... well, their union solidified because of him- it became deeper, more powerful. _

_Lord Vaisey was constantly seen speaking to his son, even though the bairn couldn't understand him; he walked with him in his arms and carried him practically everywhere. The outpouring of feeling was surprising to the whole household – and even to himself. _

_But their happiness ceased soon after the child's first birthday. The young heir fell ill one night – seemingly without any cause - and no physician could cure him of his affliction. Not three days passed, before the bairn died, leaving the Vaisey house cold and listless, and the lord himself – buried in a pitch-black sorrow. _

_It was known to everyone that he loved his son dearly – some said that even more than his life... that might've been true, for since he was dealt this great loss, there was not much humanity or love left in his heart. _

_From that moment on, he began to change. The infamous, faulty character he inherited after his forbears returned with twice as much force, the hatred he had always had for himself – though most of the time he kept it hidden – had turned into utter contempt towards his close ones._

_He cut himself off from the relatives and the few friends that he possessed, making his estate like a small island, a dungeon, where he could drown in the pain and sorrow after losing his only son and heir. _

_For Esmé couldn't conceive again. The physicians said the next pregnancy would end with both hers and the child's death, and so, there was no one to continue Vaiseys' family line. It was broken. Without future and without hope._

_One day he had been called to London for a meeting of all nobles, and after a long consideration, he decided to take his mistress with him. They'd been drawn apart since the child's death, but still shared some shred of their old love, and derived comfort from being in each other's company._

_During their stay, the couple was introduced to Prince John - the youngest member of the royal family, and third in line for the English throne – who treated them kindly, and soon gained the silent approval of the young lord. _

_But what both Vaisey and Esmé failed to see, was a malicious glint in the man's eyes, and an overly familiar way in which he treated the beautiful northern woman. It would've been apparent that the lady caught the Prince's attention, and he soon began to plot against her husband, wondering how to get rid of this inconvenient obstacle. However much he wanted to dispose of the young lord, at the time he couldn't afford to lose his allegiance – Vaisey was one of the most powerful southern masters, who possessed a respectable place amongst the nobles. Even the most enchanting woman couldn't have persuaded Prince John to act against his want of power. And so, he waited for the right opportunity to arise, when he could take Esmé as his own, to treat like a pretty trophy or a precious trinket. _

_Fortunately, on one of the many hunting trips with the court, Prince John's attention slipped, and none of the gathering could be mistaken as to the feelings he had towards Lord Vaisey's wife. Even the lord himself opened his eyes to the fact; after the realization struck him, he hurriedly took off on the journey back to his manor. He might've been afraid that the longer his wife stayed in the Prince's company, the more their mutual attachment would grow: He could not have been more mistaken. _

_There is a strong spirit of contrariness, running in the Plantagenet bloodline, and Prince John was no exception in the matter. The farther Lord Vaisey took his wife, the more the young heir's determination grew. He might've been weak and terribly selfish, but he was definitely not submissive._

_Lord Vaisey was desperate to hide his loved one from the world's eyes, and so he searched for the safest place which could provide shelter – far enough to be out of Prince John's grasp, but still in the same kingdom, so that he could easily travel to visit her there. Eventually, he bought an old townhouse in the city of Lincoln, knowing that she would be able to find an escape in the place she was born and grew up in._

_Esmé had been provided everything she could've wished for, except one thing – her husband's company, which she coveted most of all. They parted ways, and though their love had sustained, it grew dimmer with every passing year, until, one day, there came a letter instead of Vaisey himself, saying he was detained, and could not meet her until he solved the most pressing matters. _

_The aging lady saw the changes in her husband's character: the malice and hatred that twisted his heart, the pain that was buried deep, too deep for her to reach, and heal with her own love. She also knew that the reason for his visits becoming more rare, irregular, was that he began to blame her for their child's death, and for not being able to conceive any more. _

_Many a night had she spent, crying over the lost soul of her beloved, the soul that she suspected was now balancing on the edge of earthly matters and hellish plans for revenge, dictated by the devil he refused to renounce._

_Soon, the London court had forgotten about the lady, having more pleasant and exciting news to gossip about; she was left alone, and the light of attention shone on her lavish prison no more._

_But Lord Vaisey had not forgotten, nor did his heart go completely cold. Though everyone saw him as a monster, he still kept the memory of his wife, hidden beneath the walls of cold stone he had built around him for protection. His degenerated spirit was becoming more and more spiteful without the soothing presence of his dear Esmé, and yet, he cowered before the prospect of seeing her again._

* * *

"... And so, because of his stupidity and stubbornness, he never saw her again. He died unexpectedly, despised by his subjects, hated by his old friends and allies – so different from the man he could've become, and so far away from where his heart truly lay" Brother Bard ended, folding his hands in his lap.

Neither of the listeners spoke. Guy's gaze was focused on the medallion he still held in his hand: The eagle didn't seem as predatory as before, the drops of blood on its beak matching a wound in its side. A single, thin line, very easy to miss. Self-destruction. Hidden secrets. Was this the real story behind his former master's past? It would certainly explain the way in which he behaved – as if the whole world was against him, and he would have to fight his way to gain even the smallest of things. But what the story failed to explain was how the sheriff's wife – now a widow – could be their rescue in the battle for Nottingham.

Guy heard Robin stir at the other side of the alcove, but he didn't look up.

"This-" he turned the medallion over and read the Latin inscription for the hundredth time "How is this supposed to help us in defending Nottingham?"

Brother Bard blinked back to reality and gave a weak smile. Remembering the events of the past had overstrained his mind: He was once more reminded of the closeness of dawn, and of how weary he really was.

"So you mean to join us, then?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That's not what I said."

The monk sighed, pointing to the silver pendant.

"Esmé is still living in Lincoln, unaware of the danger that draws near" he stood up slowly and moved to the wobbly table beside his chair. A bottle of wine with three metal chalices of a different kind were set upon it, though neither Guy nor Robin could recall anyone setting them there.

"As I said before, Prince John has been counting on the death of Vaisey, so that he could get a hold of his beautiful wife. Now that the sheriff's gone, he has the freedom to do that, and he will, the moment he discovers where she is being kept hidden. My informers tell me" the monk poured the aged wine into the goblets "That two days ago he received a message from one of his spies, which contained that information. He is now on his way to London, where he has to lead the council of nobles, but when it's over, he shall ride directly to Lincoln and claim the right to take Esmé to his court. You see-" he paused, handing the chalices to Robin and Guy, and then sitting back down on his chair "You see, there is nothing our miserable Prince wouldn't do to get something he has set his heart on. And this trinket he had had in mind for about fifteen years, throughout which his determination grew. Just think: If Lady Esmé could be snatched right from under his nose, and placed somewhere in England, that place would be the safest one in the whole kingdom, but only..."

"... Only as long as she stays in the Prince's sight, and yet out of his grasp!" Robin cut in excitedly, as if struck by a sudden realization.

Guy remained impassive. He eyed the contents of the chalice, before setting it on the floor with a quiet 'clink'.

"This is ridiculous. How could this plan ever work?"

Brother Bard gave his wine vessel a flick, and the metallic sound resonated throughout the alcove and into the dark corridor. He raised his head to look at both men; in the dim light it was hard to read his expression.

"That is the second matter I've been assigned to enlighten you about" he said slowly, thoroughly placing one word after another, as if we was weighing their importance.

"We want – _The Order_ wants you – both of you – to bring Lady Esmé to Nottingham. It would ensure the safety of its people until we've gathered enough men to fight."

Robin's eyes went round.

"We are to find someone who was so thoroughly hidden, that even the royal spies couldn't discover her dwelling place?" he gave a quiet, nervous chuckle.

"In three days" added Brother Bard, sipping the wine with a stoic expression.

"Three day-" this earned the monk a laugh, then a snort, and finally a series of coughs, to cover up another shivering chuckle.

"This is foolhardy!" Robin turned his goblet, looking thoughtfully at the aged wine. This was an insane endeavor indeed. But then again, wasn't he born to tackle the obstacles that arose in his way?

"This is too foolish... Which is why I think it might actually work." he turned to the black-clad man "Gisborne?"

He was met with a deadly serious gaze, telling him to choose his words carefully, but he didn't care; he could smell the fragrant scent of adventure lingering in the air, and all he wanted to do now was to go and meet it head on, like he always did.

The man sitting on the opposite side of the alcove didn't seem as excited as Robin, though. Quite the contrary: his face, partly hidden in the damp shadow, showed one, distinct feeling and it was most definitely _not_ excitement.

"We might share a brother, Hood" came a low, dangerous growl "But we do not – _will not_ – fight on the same side. Not now, not _ever_" he rose suddenly, knocking over his goblet : the wine spilled all over the floor, forming a series of blood-colored puddles.

If he had his sword at hand, both Robin and the monk would have a reason to fear. His mind was so terribly mixed up at the moment, that he barely had the strength to think reasonably. He stalked over to where the corridor split into two directions, his steps determined, purposeful.

"Where are you going?!" Robin also got to his feet, not sure whether he should stop the man, or simply let him go.

Guy turned back and growled over his shoulder:

"To the only place where I belong; back to Gisborough."

With that he disappeared behind the corner, the damp darkness swallowing his form within seconds.

Robin was torn between anger, frustration and relief – all of them pulling mercilessly at his conscience. He spoke after what seemed like ages, but in reality was just seconds.

"You're not going to stop him?" it came out a whisper, slightly surprised and barely audible.

But he monk wasn't looking at the young outlaw. He seemed deep in his own thoughts, and Robin could swear the man was smiling – a real, joyful kind of smile, which did not suit the situation in the least. Didn't he want to obtain their help, just a moment ago?

"_Mab ei thad, wir_ y_n_" he heard him mutter, an amused tone to his words. "I should've known..."

He then looked up at the confused Robin, his expression obtaining a new seriousness that wasn't there before.

"Find Esmé. Bring her to Nottingham, before the sun rises on the third day. It might save many precious lives."

Robin shook his head, not knowing how to voice his doubts.

"And what about the leader you so wanted to find?" he stammered out "You said-"

"-One matter is dependent on the other" Brother Bard cut off "Both are of equal importance, but one of you must make a choice."

The omnipresent echo brought a sound of an arrow being released, and something heavy hitting a stone surface. At the same moment Robin felt his head spin rapidly, and stumbled back onto his bed. The feeling was sickeningly familiar.

"No, not _this_ again..." he let his goblet fall to the floor, and closed his eyes in an attempt to re-focus his attention. It didn't help, and he only felt himself being submerged deeper and deeper into the state of dull inertia. There was no more blood in his veins; it's been replaced by a thick substance, which flowed all too slowly, making him sleepy and listless.

"I regret having to say farewell in such a way" he heard a voice just above him say "But certain matters require drastic means" it sounded almost apologetic.

"Oh, and please tell Meredith that _the lion roars three times before every midday, and will always follow_ _a blind raven carrying chrysolite rings_"

These were the last words Robin heard before falling into nothingness, all the while trying to remember what a chrysolite ring looks like. He also couldn't fathom what was a lion doing in a cold dungeon, or why in heaven's name did the raven have to be blind.

And then, before he could procure the answers... he lost consciousness, for the second time that day.

* * *

The arrow in the back has taken him by surprise.

Before he could walk further off or plan his escape route, he felt a slight sting below his left arm. A wave of liquid ice rushed through his veins, stilling his limbs so quickly, that he barely had the time to realize what was going on; he fell to the ground, a dull thud following his descent.

His mind didn't get overthrown as easily as his body, and though he couldn't move anymore, the conversation coming from the alcove still made perfect sense to him. That is, until the elderly monk said something about lions and ravens... or crows, he wasn't exactly sure, and then - all became quiet.

Guy's thoughts were beginning to blur, blend into a hazy substance lighter than air, and overtake the rest of his being in the race towards unconsciousness. As if through a thick veil of fog, he heard two quiet voices, one belonging to the monk and the other, softer, appearing to be female.

"Why did you let him go, my lord?" the softer one asked. "He knows so much now, that it's a threat to all of us!"

The man chuckled, amusement mixed with anxiety.

"Do not trouble yourself with that, dear" there was a light, metallic clank, and Guy supposed he must've picked up the fallen chalices. "It's nearly dawn. You know where to wait?"

"Under the white cross, where the western roads meet" she sighed impatiently. "My lord Mawr, I still don't think this is a good idea. He might tell the others... he might not come-"

"-He _will_ come back. And you shall meet him tomorrow morning, at the appointed place, and lead him to the Under City" Brother Bard's tone bore a trace of finality. "Now, go and prepare for the journey. I'll stand up for you at the council."

There was a slight rustle of robes against stone, and he heard light footsteps moving in another direction. They ceased before long, as the girl came to a halt.

"My lord?" her voice was quiet, but the omnipresent echo carried it far.

"Yes, Dellyn?"

The girl fumbled with her words before finally asking:

"Are the rumours true? Is one of _them_ the real... the real Mawr?"

Guy struggled to keep his attention, but his thoughts felt too lazy, following his body into the blissful state of unconsciousness.

Brother Bard sighed quietly.

"Who knows? Things aren't usually what they seem, and I do not presume to know the hearts of men. Go now, there's not much time left..."

It was then that Guy's consciousness finally stopped fighting the poison. He closed his eyes and once again fell into oblivion.

He dreamt of walking through a thick forest, deeper with every step, until no light could shine through the branches, and he was swallowed by a suffocating darkness. When Guy turned around, he could barely make out the path he'd come from; it was withdrawing, as if drawn away from the hollow dark he was being held in. He drew a sharp breath, expecting to feel the shadow filling his lungs... And then he woke up.

As he opened his eyes, he saw Sherwood Forest in its most magnificent beauty, surrounding him with a myriad of vivid colors.

_A dream? Was all of this... just a dream?_

* * *

**_* Mab ei thad, wir yn _- (Welsh) His father's son, indeed.**

**PS:** **Most of the mysteries will be solved - not all at once, but spread throughout the following chapters, until in the end you shall see the whole, complete picture... At least that's how I plan to unfold the story :) Lots of thanks for reading - your thoughts and ideas are precious to me, and really help me in tying up loose ends of the plot! So thank you again!**


	17. Chapter 17: The mask

**A/N: All right, so this chapter is going to come out in two parts. Hope that's all right? Enormous thanks to all that leave their reviews - they really brighten up my day :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters.**

* * *

_Dacw nghariad lawr yn y bellran-_

_Tu lum, dee lo lum, dee la doo lee doo lah_

_O nab awn I yno fy hunan-_

_Tu rum, dey ro rum, dey ra doo re doo lay!_

_There's my love down in the orchard-_

_Tu lum, dee lo lum, dee la doo lee doo lah_

_Oh, how I wish I was there myself-_

_Tu rum, dey ro rum, dey ra doo re doo lay!_

The voice wasn't exceedingly beautiful, but it carried all the happiness of an August morning with its simple melody. Sherwood breathed the dawn's golden mist, peacefully waking from the night's slumber. The exciting, extraordinary news stirred beneath the tree roots and in the highest branches, repeated by the small, woodland birds; the two simple travelers were not enough to draw the Forest's attention.

_There's my love down in the orchard,_

_Tu lum, dee lo-_

"Oh, away with that tune!" the second voice laughed "Sing something sensible, if you will!"

"Tis not my fault the weather's so beautiful this mornin'!" a red-headed girl appeared from behind a beech tree; she carried armfuls of flowers, red, white and yellow. The wind blew the petals all around her, until they got tangled up in her fiery hair - but she didn't mind one bit and kept laughing and dancing on the forest floor. She seemed positively elated at the prospect of the oncoming day.

"Cease your prancin', or you'll spoil the flowers!" the owner of the second voice came into view. It was also a woman, and though she looked older than the other, there was a more mature, steady kind of beauty in her features. When she walked, her hair resembled a curtain of liquid gold, flowing over a simple dress, green as the leaves in early spring. Her companion however, wore a fine blue gown with richly decorated sleeves and rim.

"Don't spoil the fun, cousin!" the red-head said, turning abruptly and trying to walk backwards, a wide smile on her freckled face "I don't know why, but since I woke up, all I can see is your sour face. Cheer up, keep up and don't frown – there's a whole day of festivities ahead of us!" with that, she broke into her song once more.

_There's the great branchy oak-_

But again she was interrupted by the other one.

"You too would be _dissatisfied _if you got a personal invitation from Lord Carrey" she picked up one of the flowers the wind blew from the companion's arms, and started picking at its petals "He's a frightful man, he is. I wouldn't want those chilling eyes on me when I'm trying to enjoy the day" she shuddered visibly.

"So why did you come, then?" the red-head didn't seem disturbed by the gloomy expression on her cousin's countenance. She was met with a small, slightly worried sigh.

"He said he'd bring me there himself if I didn't come willingly... You know that if he started searching the woods... he could discover my house. Other than that, I couldn't possibly let you go alone" she suddenly stopped and started looking for something on the forest floor.

"You don't, by any chance, remember which color symbolizes rejection, do you?"

Her companion also stopped, forgetting about the beautiful morning for a moment.

"Violet, I suppose... why do you ask?"

Meg was met with an elaborate '_Ah_', and a quick glance at the slightly diminished armful of flowers she still held.

"Well..." Meredith crouched low to pick a few 'violets' "...I thought the Lord of Locksley would enjoy a nice bouquet in that _magnificent _colour".

* * *

They walked past the green borders of Sherwood and entered the richly decorated village of Locksley, which was already overflowing with excitement. Its people were moving back and forth between the houses, admiring the beautiful morning and exchanging ideas as to what kinds of food and games have been prepared for the oncoming day. Some of them were arguing about the number of dishes to be served at the evening's feast, while others tried to take small bets on which of the lords have been invited. No one seemed to remember the worries of everyday life, and even if they did, they dared not voice their complaints on such a merry occasion. For it was indeed the twentieth day of August - the Festival of Fools.

Meg walked by Meredith's side, the former carrying an intricate, cheerful bouquet, the latter – a few violet flowers, which looked rather small and out of place. The older of the two was looking about warily, as if searching for something... or _someone_.

"I can see more guards" she said, noticing a few black-clad soldiers patrolling the crowded streets. "One could think the Prince himself was coming to visit."

"I agree. All of this is just ridicul- _Jesters_!" Meg's eyes lit up instantly when she spotted a painted cart standing nearby. She made a move as if she wanted to rush towards it, but instead turned to check her companion's expression.

Meredith conjured up an encouraging smile.

"What are you looking at me for? Away with ya!" she said, giving her cousin a push. With the corner of her eye, she noticed a young woman walking towards her; it was Jane, the weaver's overly-honest daughter, and Meredith's childhood friend.

"We don't have much reason for laughter lately" said Jane, following Meg with her eyes. The girl reached the cart in seconds, and was now talking excitedly with one of the jesters wearing a green-red gown. She looked as happy as a child – a rare sight to anyone who knew her, for usually she preferred to be seen as a serious adult.

"The new master's makin' himself at home 'ere. Already he's bossin' us around as if he were a baron or even a King!" Jane said, shaking her head. She worked as a kitchen maid in the Locksley Manor, and as such, had the opportunity to find out more about the new Master at Arms.

"Is it really that bad?" asked Meredith, a tinge of worry creeping into her tone. Seeing the people suffer at the hands of someone who had just been instated... she wondered what might happen after he settles in. Would he dare to pass judgment without the knowledge of the sheriff? Jane seemed adamant it was already happening.

"You shoulda' been 'ere yesterday!" she exclaimed "He threatened to hang old Ben, and for what? For not bowin' to that painted peacock when he arrived. I'm tellin' ya, he's the devil incarnate" she folded her hands over her chest, stifling a shudder. "And here I was thinkin' Gisborne was the worst master possible..."

Meredith stopped listening to her friend upon hearing that name.

_Gisborne_.

With it came a whole wave of confused feelings - disappointment and worry most prominent among them. Why had he left without saying anything? Where did he wander off to? And was he even still alive?

She felt her head spin rapidly upon remembering their last encounter. He promised to stay for three more days. Meredith felt – no, she _knew_ that wounds such as his were impossible to heal in less than that. There was a huge chance he'd die of either blood loss or exhaustion. He _could_ be dead right now for all she knew. And, as much as she didn't want to admit it, it unnerved her to have no news of him whatsoever.

"Are ye even listening?"

Meredith was very suddenly brought back to earth. Jane was looking at her with raised eyebrows, a queer look in her dark-grey eyes.

"Well, it... depends" she smiled apologetically.

Her friend gave an exasperated sigh.

"I was just sayin' we're lucky to have ye with us today" she pointed towards a group of children who were following one of the servants carrying a bucket of ripe apples. "The little 'uns are waitin' for yer story. Talkin' about it the whole yesterday, they were" Jane couldn't help an amused smile.

"What did ye promise them, Day?"

"Oh, nothing in particular" came the answer. "I said they could choose whatever story they'd like."

Jane chuckled.

"Ah, then ye'll be stuck with them the whole evenin'!" she took her companion by the arm, leading her towards the painted carts. "S'ppose I should be grateful – there's no lass in Nottingham better at dancin' than our Day here!" the last part was half-heartedly shouted towards the group of men surrounding the wooden stalls. "No offence, but at least yer giving me a chance to beat ya" she winked.

"I don't mind one bit!" Meredith laughed, walking obediently at Jane's side "Besides, if all goes well, no one will even notice I'm here".

Jane looked her up and down with a critical eye.

"Oh, so that's why yer dressed like that... Green like all the others..."

Before either of them could say anything more, a girl of about five ran up to them, her face and hands covered with mud - probably a remnant of playing with her peers.

"Miss Day!" a bright smile could be discerned underneath the layers of dirt "Miss Day, they're saying you'll tell us a story. That is what they're saying".

"Who is, Elspeth?" Meredith bent forward, narrowing one eyebrow questioningly.

"All of them!" Elspeth waved her hands about, pointing to everyone and no one in particular. "Roy the miller's son, Jamie, Little Kate... they're waiting for you, come on!" she tugged on Meredith's sleeve, pulling her towards some unknown direction. "Will you tell us about Robin Hood? And Lady Marian? Oh, and the dragons, and princesses..."

"...I'll leave ye to yer guide, then" said Jane with a mischievous wink, and turned to walk away. "I too might stop to listen when I'm tired of all the dancin'. Have fun!"

Meredith managed to turn enough so that she could shout a farewell request.

"Oh, and Jane, please don't tell your master I've arrived!"

But her friend has already blended into the colorful crowd, disappearing from view.

She was left alone, and what's more – she _felt _alone, despite the swarm of people surrounding her, and the little girl pulling her towards the other children. Meredith sighed, kicking all of her previous thoughts – including violets, Gisborne and Carrey – out of her mind. There was a story waiting to be told.

* * *

As each of the children (more than two dozen had gathered) asked for a different theme, Meredith was forced to think up something entirely new to satisfy at least half of them. They had found a quieter place at the edge of the village, and sat around the storyteller, who settled herself on a round tree stump in the circle's middle. She waited patiently until perfect silence fell, closing her eyes to give her mind a moment of peace before it should delve into the endless sea of imagination.

And then it came to her; a tale from her childhood, passed on from generation to generation, from mother onto daughter, since the very foundation of Cymru. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and Meredith remembered how deeply it appealed to her young mind, many years back.

"_There was a time in the history of our land, which even the wisest men fail to remember; a time of great wars, when the world was still young_..."

And so, the story began unfolding before the children's eyes with every word that fell from Meredith's lips. So vivid, so powerful were the pictures she drew for the mind's eye, that the circle fell quiet, mesmerized by a tale of courage, faith and friendship.

It told about a wise emperor from the far away land, who hated all falsehood and injustice, and fought it since the very day he had come to rule his empire. After many years of victories, when his domain prospered, abundant with all riches of the earth known to mankind, he felt the pang of loneliness for the first time and decided to search for a queen. He sent out seven times seventy messengers to find him a queen worthy of ruling such a mighty empire, but unfortunately none of them could meet the emperor's expectations.

When after five years he had begun to lose hope, he had a dream in which he saw a woman of extraordinary beauty, with hair as light as the moon and eyes blue as the midnight sky. She held out to him a golden cup filled with crystal clear water, and a ring made out of precious green stone.

When he had woken up, he called all of his advisers and chieftains and asked them for the meaning of his queer dream; but none of them could decipher what it meant. It was then, that a young servant asked permission to speak in the emperor's presence. He had been listening to the talk of the mighty gathering, and claimed to have guessed the meaning of the ruler's dream.

'My lord' he said, bowing low before his master 'The women of your empire have dark hair and even darker eyes, and their beauty is great indeed. Yet there is a land, far north, in which the women's beauty is light as the morning mist, and just as mysterious. Their irises bathe in the skies' most magnificent colors, and they are all fair, though strong at heart.'

'And, pray, where is this land?' inquired one of the nobles disbelievingly.

'Tis my homeland, beyond the Great Sea' said the servant, too humble to take offence 'Thirty days' to sail there by sea, and twice as long to travel by land. I could guide you, my lord, for I know the way by heart'.

The emperor was pleased to hear his dream held something true. For you have to know that in his empire the fair, paler type of beauty was not more than a myth, existing in legends and tales only.

'What is your name, faithful servant?' the emperor asked.

'Mitra, son of Aelma my lord' said the humble boy.

'Rise then, Mitra, son of Aelma – you shall lead me to the land beyond the Great Sea' The Emperor took off his ring and gave it to the servant. 'I give you the symbol of my royal power, so that you could prepare everything we need for the journey. Whatever it is that you need – ask, and it will be given. We set sail in three days. Go now, and know my thanks will follow you. Go!'

The boy bowed before his master and the nobles once more before leaving the gathering.

The emperor's heart was filled with joy at the new finding, yet still he had not forgotten the matters of his empire.

'Lords of this land' he turned to his advisers and chieftains 'See how humility surpasses the great minds of noble birth! The truth can be spoken by a commoner, while the kings of this earth might live in lies and deceit. But enough of that now: I leave to search for the pale beauty in the far North, and I need to choose someone to rule in my stead till I return. Debate now, for the matter is of great significance.'

Instantly, a commotion started amongst the nobles. Some shouted '_Choose Lord Bethau!_' others yelled '_No, not Bethau - Yeregon is better!_', while the rest made noise just for the noise itself. Finally, when the commotion was beginning to slip out of control, some faint voice cried: '_Your nephew, my lord, think_ _about your nephew!_'

Then all went silent. In their debate, they never considered the young royal a proper candidate. The emperor thought for a long moment, then rose from his throne and said in a voice that suffered no opposition:

'Very well then, Tirian shall take my place as your sovereign: You are to serve and obey him in my absence. That is my final word.'

The court was worried and anxious, awaiting the day when their master should set out on his journey. They wanted a queen, of course, but at the same time wondered what kind of a king the royal nephew would prove to be. They knew very little of him at that time, but had learnt to trust their emperor a long time ago.

On the third day at dawn, the emperor - accompanied by Mitra the Servant and thirty of his most trusted men – set sail from the Great Havens and headed north, to the land far beyond the borders of the world they had known.

How could they know that half of them should die, and the rest would get lost at sea? And how could they predict the terrible results of young Tirian being king? They sailed the open seas with no knowledge of what will come to pass.

Like the boy had said, the journey had taken about thirty days, after which they saw a thin line of green land on the horizon.

'This is my homeland' said Mitra to the emperor 'Anyone who stands upon its bank will be bound by a love stranger, and stronger than any earthly power. Beware my lord, for not many are chosen to bear both The South and The North in their hearts.'

To this, the emperor laughed.

'With every step towards the new land my curiosity grows, and I wish to solve its mysteries, very soon. But do not trouble yourself with my heart – it is kept safe back at the palace. No love is there for me, except for the love I choose myself!' and he kept on laughing, for the weather on that day had been magnificent indeed.

Suddenly, the sky grew dark with heavy storm-clouds, and a powerful wind began to blow from the east. It tossed the emperor's ship from wave to wave, toying with it as if it were but a nutshell upon a churned up lake. The abundance of wealth the master had brought with him to present to his new queen was lost in the sea's bottomless depth. Many of the sailors perished, swept off the deck and into the freezing water. After hours of cruel struggle, the sea released its prisoners near a wide shallow, where their ship crashed into the underwater rocks and sank.

Half of the men were buried underneath the waves; the rest barely had the strength to swim towards the shore. Out of thirty-two companions, only ten had survived.

When they set foot on the while shores of the northern land, the wearied emperor turned to the darkened water once more.

'So many lives lost for the sake of my dream. A fool, not a sovereign am I! I should never have come here!' he told his men to bow to the sea and honor the dead in that way, while he stood with them, bowing his head lower than all the others. His heart was heavy with sorrow, and a dark burden of guilt.

'So this is the land you told me about' he said to Mitra, who was deep in thought 'All I can see now is the hostility with which it greeted us on its shores'.

'My homeland, your highness, keeps its secrets within well-guarded borders' answered the boy gravely 'The Sea is like a wall around a mighty fortress. But this city has many strongholds...' he turned his gaze towards the green plains and rolling hills of the mainland.

The emperor though for a while, before saying;

'You know this land, while we do not. Can you lead us to a place of safety, where we can recover our strength?' he asked the boy.

'My heart calls me ever home, sire' Mitra smiled weakly 'I know it as the only safe haven in the wide world. We will find shelter there.'

The sovereign called the other men to him, and they set out north, led by the young Mitra.

Before the night had fallen, they were all at the verge of exhaustion. But their guide kept saying, again and again 'we must not stop yet, not yet', and they somehow mustered up enough strength to go on.

The emperor kept mostly to himself, trying not to dwell on the bitter thoughts of his lost companions. His mind also fled to the empire he had left under his nephew's care, and with every step he felt the weight upon his shoulders pressing him into the ground. The unknown, alien soil of the North.

By the time the sun had set, they saw a tower of grey stone standing solitarily in the middle of a grassy plain.

'This is the Watchman's Tower' said Mitra, as they neared the queer structure 'Many of my friends dwelt here in times of peace. We will be given food and shelter here.'

The sailors looked upon the dark stone with interest, for you have to know that in their homeland buildings were made of clean, white stone, and beautifully ornamented; but the tower looming over the grassy plain bore no resemblance to the order they were used to seeing.

They were welcomed by a tall man, hooded and cloaked, who spoke in a language none of them could understand; to the emperor's ears it sounded cold and harsh like the stone the tower was built from. Mitra spoke with the man, who, upon hearing the language of his forbears, was more willing to let the travelers enter his threshold.

Despite his young age, Mitra was a wise boy, and a very cunning one; he had not told the man who were the sailors he was travelling with, nor did he reveal the emperor's true identity.

'Help us, good fellow' he said in his mother tongue 'We are weary, hungry, and some of us are wounded. We've travelled far from beyond the Great Sea, and we need shelter for the night. Listen, good fellow' his voice took on a new strength 'I am Mitra, son of Aelma, who was the son of Gerthon. You know my name; you've heard it before from your master's king. Now, in the name of the Holy Fire, I ask you to show kindness to me and my companions, for the hour of great need is upon us!'.

The tall man regarded Mitra for a moment with disbelief, and then nodded silently, motioning the travelers to enter the tower. The emperor walked in last, limping slightly, for he had hurt his leg in the ship's crash.

'That man is wounded' said the host grimly 'And yet I don't see pain on his countenance. Who is he?'

'In the land we had come from, he was my master, and I his servant. Here, I am also his guide' Mitra answered, helping the emperor settle near the fire.

The host nodded again thinking, and he then said:

'I have someone here, who could heal your companion's wounds. Shall I bring him?'

Mitra bowed his head in thanks, and went on to translate the meaning of his talk to the sailors and his lord. Their host had returned after a while, but he came alone.

'He said you are to come to him, one at a time. Is your master to go first?' he looked at Mitra, who translated the words to his companions.

The emperor looked at the gathered men, and answered 'Here, I am amongst equals, not a sovereign. Let those most suffering go first, for I see many of those here. I shall go last.'

'My lord, we cannot have you lose your strength' pleaded Mitra, but the emperor had made his mind.

And so, the eight of their companions went, one by one, to meet the healer, all returning with their wounds properly tended, and hearts peaceful. The only one who hadn't gone was Mitra, for the vicious storm somehow didn't manage to do him any harm.

When the time came for the emperor to see the healer, he was led to a room on the second floor above the ground, with four windows overlooking the green plain, and quite simply furnished.

He sat in the appointed place, and soon a short figure appeared, cloaked and hooded like the man that had first greeted them. He noticed that the people in this country seemed to take pleasure in hiding behind thick walls and long cloaks, as if they were a part of some great mystery, which he could not in any way understand.

'I know you can't understand me' he said to the figure as it approached him, bowl of water and a few cloths in hand 'But I wish to thank you for your hospitality and the help you've given my men. The journey so far has proven to be harder than I predicted'. He had a feeling the person was watching him from underneath the big hood, which cast a shadow on its features.

The emperor kept silent, until the person kneeled down next to him to tend to his wounded leg. It bore a long gash which still bled openly, and needed sowing.

Then, the most extraordinary thing had happened.

When the person threaded the needle, the emperor saw a glimpse of its hand; it was slight, delicate and as pale as the white marble of the South. No man could have a hand like that.

In a sudden realization, he moved quickly and pulled the hood from the person's head.

In the dim light, in the cold room of the tower, and in the land so foreign to him, he imagined he had fallen into a most magnificent dream.

Standing before him, was-

* * *

A stifled gasp escaped the gathered children. Meredith was suddenly brought back to earth but it took her a few seconds to fully recover from the descent. And then she saw _him_.

_He_ was standing just outside of the circle, observing her like a hawk with his stern grey eyes.

"My lord" she got to her feet and dropped into a curtsey. A small one though, for her mind was already occupied with the feeling of disappointment. How did he manage to find her so soon? And with so many things going on in the village? Well, there was nowhere to escape now, and she knew better than to hide.

"Forgive me, I didn't see you."

"I didn't want to be seen" came the answer, and the children moved out of the man's way "Other than that, I found your story most... amusing" he bestowed upon her the most crooked and unpleasant smile Meredith had ever seen. She tried to avoid his gaze, fearing that he should discover something she wouldn't want him to see. There was too much of one's self that people could read from eyes alone - she had learned that two nights ago.

Meredith bowed once more, forcing her lips to form a thin smile.

"I'm glad it was to your liking"

The children watched, scared and partly perplexed, as Carrey walked up to their storyteller and inclined his head so that when he spoke, only Meredith could hear him.

"Yes, yes...quite amusing. But would you not rather have someone else to tell it to? This rabble of youths does not stand for an appreciative audience now, does it?" his tone was playful, but the woman knew she was still treading on unsteady ground.

"My lord, I find them the best listeners of all - if I may be so bold" she said carefully.

Carrey tiled his head back and laughed, though it was just as unpleasant as his smiles; a sorry sound indeed.

"Well then, there's something we shall have to remedy" he answered, taking Meredith by the arm. To the outsiders it would've appeared a mere sign of friendship, but the force he put into the grip had erased all inklings of a positive relation between the two. She had to stifle a cold shiver of fear than ran up her spine at the tone in which he said the word 'remedy'. Was he going to take his anger out on the children?

"My lord...?" her voice was weaker than usual, as she felt him literally _pull_ her (though it might not have been noticeable to the onlookers) from the circle, and back towards the village.

"You _will_ come with me."

It wasn't a request. William Carrey did not ask for _anything_. He demanded, and the world had to obey.

She turned just slightly, while trying to keep up with his long strides.

"I will be back soon!" she shouted out to the children, giving them what was supposed to be a reassuring smile.

She heard Carrey chuckle at her side.

"I think _I_ will be the one to decide that" he said in hushed tones, pulling her with even more force, now that they were out of sight. She tripped and stumbled a few times, but righted herself before her companion (or rather a captor) could react. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her fall.

At least he didn't try to harm the children, she comforted herself. But who could say whether _she_ would be left alone as well?

Meredith tried to focus on the ground beneath her feet. The still shadows on the dusty road informed her that the hour was close to midday, and also - she thought grimly - that there was a whole, long day ahead of her.

* * *

He led her to the heart of Locksley – or rather _dragged_, for most of the way she didn't have the least bit of control of their direction. Her arm was beginning to feel sore, yet still he didn't release her from his iron grip. The village people looked at the pair with a mix of curiosity and concern; all of them knew who the grim man was and many recognized Meredith also, but no one wished to interfere, as their master was clearly onto something. However much they pitied her, the woman would have to deal with it herself.

As they passed a merchant's cart, Meg appeared from behind an exceptionally large barrel of pears, a look of surprise and slight terror on her previously smiling countenance. Meredith shot her a 'don't-do-anything-just-stay-put' look, but the girl must've missed it.

"What's she done, my lord?" she blurted out, nearing the walking pair.

Carrey bestowed upon her a short glance, before turning his attention back to the woman at his side.

"Your kin?"

"An acquaintance, my lord" Meredith prayed that Meg would simply let them be. She could suffer a few more moments with the man for the sake of her cousin's safety. But it simply wasn't in Meg's nature to keep her thoughts and emotions to herself.

"Whatever it is, she's innocent!" she said defiantly "My lord, where are you leading-"

"One more word, and you'll meet the hangman before the day is out - is that clear enough for you?" he hissed, baring his teeth. "I'll return her to you alive and unspoiled when my wish is such. Now, out of my way!" with that, he pulled Meredith towards the eastern edge of the village, and the crowd, including Meg, parted obediently before them.

When they were out of the onlooker's sight, she finally gathered up the courage to ask for their destination.

"Someplace secluded" he answered curtly, without looking at her.

Dear Lord, what _has_ she done? Except for the escapades to visit John Silverneedle, and the rare meetings with Robin Hood by the Three Rocks, she could think of nothing he could accuse her of. But then again... yes, it had to be! Hood and his men must've been captured! And he must've revealed that she's been helping them! There was no other logical explanation she could conjure up at the moment.

They reached the dusty eastern road, where only a few houses stood, and even less people wandered on a day such as this. Carrey led her to an old tree hunched over a stone well, finally letting go of Meredith's arm. She walked over to the well and leaned against it; her legs were suddenly weaker than usual, and could make her stumble if she didn't find something else to support her.

"You must know why you're here?" Carrey asked, his eyebrows drawing together into a fine line. At times, he really _did_ remind her of a hawk, with his hooked nose and a sharp look in his eye.

Meredith looked at him questioningly, trying to pour all of her anxiety into the cold stone she was leaning against.

"No my lord, I do not."

She would soon be forced to meet his gaze, and she dreaded the prospect. She caught movement by the nearest house with the corner of her eye, but ignored it, thinking it might've been some villager or other.

"Do you take me for a fool, woman?" Carrey was standing closer to her now. So close, she was afraid he'll suffocate her with his oppressing presence.

"I would not dare think it... my lord."

She bowed her head slightly, feigning respect, while what she really felt was utter disdain for the man. Oh, how she wished he could just leave her be! Whatever matter he might've wanted of her, it was sure to end up with her as the loser, and him –the victor. It was a key skill, to breathe and keep calm while the predator circled around you, searching for weaknesses.

"You mean to tell me, _oh thou kingly bairn_" he mocked, sometimes moving closer, sometimes farther from the well "That you cannot see the reason why I invited you here?"

'_Dragged_ was more like it', Meredith thought. She shook her head for a 'no'.

"Think, then" an unpleasant smile cracked his face in two "Think _really_ hard. Use that imagination of yours, and go back to the day when you first arrived in Nottingham..." Carrey looked awfully pleased with himself and it sent cold shivers up her spine. What was he up to? And why was she even here?

"It was a long time ago" she said carefully, watching his steps "I do not have that good of a memory".

"Oh but you do" and again, he stopped in front of her, so near that if she wasn't already leaning against the well, she would've stepped back farther away. But, as it was, she couldn't.

"It was February when you arrived from your exile... that very day there was a terrible snowstorm, and in all of the houses and near all crossroads, fires were set to burn, to serve as guideposts for the lost travelers. A man and a little child, not more than ten years of age, were walking by the eastern road – this road" Carrey pointed to the line of dust disappearing into the woods. He never took his eyes off Meredith - watching her intently, as if wanting to read her every reaction.

"When they came upon a crossing at the borders of Sherwood, they saw two bonfires, burning brightly against the snow, and darker figures of the watchmen guarding the road. The man walked towards it, leading the child by its hand, but the bairn wouldn't pass between the two flaming lights. It feared the fire, and was terrified to go anywhere near it. It said something to its guardian, but all the watchmen could hear, was the roaring of the winter wind. Though one of them heard the child's caretaker answer; it was a language different from English, or any tongue he'd ever heard being spoken. When they came nearer, the guards saw the man to be a monk, and the child by his side – a little girl, with eyes as green as Sherwood after spring rains" Carrey's hand moved to take hold of Meredith's chin, so that she'd be forced to look him straight in the eye.

"Tell me now, _the Beauty Meredith_" his voice was barely perceptible, but still she heard every word as clearly as if he were shouting them at her. "Tell me, do you recall that little girl?"

The clatter of horses' hooves intercepted the thick silence between them. Carrey's head shot to the road, and the approaching rider, clad in the colors of the sheriff's guard. He cursed under his breath, withdrawing the hand that held Meredith's chin upwards.

"Lord Carrey!" the man cried, stopping his steed a few feet away from the pair. He eyed Meredith, confusion apparent on his tired face, before turning back to the lord of Locksley.

"Lord Carrey, I have a message from the sheriff!"

"Can it not wait?" he growled in response "I have business to attend to. Urgent business."

The emissary shook his head, still breathing wearily from his wild ride.

"No my lord. The sheriff said you are to come to the caste as soon as possible. She also said something about 'no excuses'" he gave the lord an apologetic look.

Carrey bit his lip, looking at Meredith pensively. She held her breath, silently praying that he would listen to the order.

At last, he said:

"Fetch my horse, we leave at once".

When the guard scurried off in the direction of the stables, his gaze once more moved to rest on Meredith.

"Do not think you've gotten away. We are far from over" he hissed close to her ear, and she cringed visibly, to which he responded with a disgusting smile.

"And remember that I will find you quicker if you try to hide" he said at last, turning and walking off towards Locksley Manor.

It had taken a long time before Meredith could breathe freely again. Though her heart didn't stop racing before she had seen the two riders disappear in a cloud of dust on the eastern road.

* * *

**PS:** **You can listen to the song Meg sings at the beginning on youtube - just search** "**_Dacw nghariad [Welsh folk song]_**" **:)**


	18. Chapter 18: New feelings

**A/N: Thank you all, readers and reviewers: special thanks to _Marana_ for her advice - it was really helpful :) Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Guy of Gisborne (however much I wanted to) or any of the Robin Hood BBC characters. I DO own a few things though. Like the idea for this story. Or Meredith. Or Guy's conscience, but that's slightly questionable...**

* * *

Meredith returned to the children, trying to stifle her distress and sort out the thoughts running rampant in her mind.

Carrey knew more than she had ever expected. Everyone knew that Meredith wasn't from Nottingham, but they naturally assumed that she _had_ _to_ be born on English soil. Well, she wasn't, and if someone discovered that her homeland was really Wales... she'd be cast out, or even sentenced to death. The two kingdoms had been fighting for many centuries, their kings signing insignificant treaties whilst they plotted against each other, so that one could never be sure when another war might break out.

The Welsh and the English had been deadly enemies, who killed and plundered whenever the opportunity arose. They imagined that turning against their neighbors was their natural duty, dictated by morality and honor, but Meredith could see with clarity that the people were simply fueling the old quarrels for the sake of their pride. Even the love for Wales, rooted deep within her heart, couldn't prevent the disdainful thoughts of her kin's part in the mutual slaughter. It was an endless, cruel war, and her eyes couldn't see past the bloodstained horizon, to the times of light and peace. She was beginning to think that such time might never come.

Upon arriving at the circle of children, Meredith found herself unable to return to her previous state of mind; the story she's been telling was lost for the moment, drowned beneath dark waves of fear.

When the gathering asked for another story, she simply had to refuse, asking them to play by themselves for a bit. They saw the change in her behavior and fortunately didn't question her further.

"But you _will_ come to the show after sunset?" asked little Jane, looking at the storyteller suspiciously.

The jesters. She had almost forgotten about the festivities.

"Of course I will" she gave a weak smile, pushing the girl lightly towards her companions "Now go, they're waiting for you."

There was no reason for Jane to stay any longer. Soon Meredith heard the merry laughter and singing, coming from the direction where the children had gone. It too disappeared before long, leaving her truly alone for the first time that day.

She closed her eyes, wishing in vain for a moment of peace and quiet.

But suddenly, all of the recent events came crashing down, leaving her without the smallest of breaths in her lungs. A cold fire began to spread rapidly through her entire being. Darkness. Fear. Death.

In the long years of her life she had been running from the past, struggling against all odds to stay alive. Was this all there was to life? Constant pain and fear?

So many times she had prayed for strength... and yet it was leaving her now, with a hollow burned from the inside... It was _she_ that helped the broken ones, _she_ that was ever called to heal the wounded... but who would heal _her_? Who could care about _Meredith_?

Without thinking, she broke into a run; not knowing - not wishing to know where her feet would lead her.

The sun shone brightly as if laughing at her, but she didn't see its light. The grass bent gently beneath her feet, muffling her frantic steps. She _would not_ stop running until she felt free again; she wouldn't stop until she'd have reached the borders of Cymru...

The eyes that should've been welling up with tears were now empty. Tremors shook her from the inside, for her heart wept when eyes could not. It was a pain like no other: to keep drowning in the despair, unable to reach its source and quench it. To Meredith it seemed like dying. Slowly, continually dying from the terrible cold, locked within herself...

Meredith was so consumed with her own thoughts that she failed to see someone approaching.

She was caught unawares as a pair of strong arms captured her in an iron grip. _Carrey! No, she had to get away...!_

Meredith struggled against her captor, fighting with all the strength she had left. It was all in vain – the man was much stronger than her. Before she could even catch a glimpse of his countenance, they toppled over, him pinning her to the ground with his weight. The next thing she saw was a thicket of tree branches cutting across a cloudless sky.

"Stop that, I'm not trying to hurt you!" came a low voice from just above. And it was _not_ Carrey's voice.

She focused her vision, (which was partly obscured by the mess of her tangled locks) and suddenly found herself staring right into a pair of crystal blue eyes, which, again, did _not_ belong to Carrey.

"Y-you!" Meredith stammered, almost breathless from the fall. All thoughts of fighting her captor had fled; seeing _who_ it was, she'd rather have the answers than freedom... for the moment, that is.

"I thought you were gone for good!"

Guy seemed strangely irritated, and she couldn't figure out why. His eyebrows knitted into a fine, coal-black line over his eyes, and he held her gaze. _Something was off._

"And _you_ looked as if you were running from the devil" he stated tonelessly. Meredith felt the voice vibrating deep in his chest. She became suddenly aware that they were lying on the ground, still locked closely together. It took all of her scattered strength not to blush at the fact.

"Did he do anything to you?"

'Oh, _that _devil' she thought, trying to discreetly get her wrists free from the man's grip; to no avail.

"Him? Ah... no, it was me. Just... me." She tried to smile apologetically, but it came out more of a wince.

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Could you..." Meredith made a move as if she wanted to push him off, but couldn't (which was, indeed, true). "...Help me up?"

Guy gave her one last look, before levering himself off her, and taking her up with him.

"So you are all right?" he asked again, when she was already standing fairly firmly on her own legs.

"Quite... thank you" she replied carefully, fully aware of the fact that he was still holding her wrists captive. Why was... _what_ was going on?

"Good" the irritation with which he previously spoke gave way to a much stronger feeling... and not in a good way. His grip on her wrists tightened almost painfully. Meredith winced.

"Now would you be so kind" he hissed through gritted teeth "And tell me what you were doing in Locksley yesterday?"

* * *

He saw her cringe at the words.

"I was just taking the usual- wait..." Meredith's eyes narrowed "How did you..." and then he saw realization dawning behind her irises.

"You were following me!" she cried, struggling once more to free her wrists from his grip. "I should've known you would never keep your word-"

"-I promised to '_stay for three days_'" Guy shouted back, releasing one of her hands just so that he could wrap his arm firmly around her waist. "But what did you expect me to do? Stay obediently behind when the _host_ was running off without a word?!"

"I wasn't runnin-" Meredith suddenly realized how close to the village of Locksley they actually were. The forest echo might've carried their voice far, and what it they were heard? What if the villagers came and saw... well, a woman once thought to be a witch, and the man who was – for all they knew – burning in hell in that precise moment? No amount of talking could explain _that._

Gisborne must've realized the same thing, for he also lowered his voice (though he still refused to release Meredith from his iron grip).

"I was _not _running away" she whispered angrily, a dangerous fire in her emerald-green eyes. Heavens knew she was even more beautiful when angry; even in the midst of an argument, Guy couldn't overlook that.

"Are you mad because I had gone, or is it about the fact that it was Rob– that it was Hood I met with?!" she stopped her futile struggle, and was instead looking straight into his eyes with a mighty defiance.

Guy found himself unable to answer that question. All reason failed him when he talked to that woman. Was the change so great, that it has left him without the will to argue? Has it? Or, may it be that his previous fights were just... pointless? There was no clear line where _Guy_ started and _Gisborne_ ended anymore. Everything was changing.

"That is _not_ the point..." he averted his gaze. At the very least, she had the right to know that...

"...I made peace with Hood..." he added, quieter than he might've liked. But before Meredith's disbelieving gasp could become yet another question, he said:

"...And the point is... That you went behind my back."

The long silence that fell after his last words made him uneasy, and he looked down, trying to read the reaction from her countenance. Their eyes met once more; fiery green opposing the steady (not so steady of late) sky-blue ones. She looked... different. As if she understood something he couldn't fathom just yet...

"I am- I am a free person" she whispered, struggling to sound certain of her words, but failing terribly. "I do not- will not have to account for my behavior. Not to anyone... and definitely _not to_ _you_".

As she said that, Meredith made one last effort to free herself from Gisborne's grasp. To her surprise, he let her go...

...For a mere second.

* * *

"Explain _this_ to me, you band of _halfwits_!" Carrey cringed at the raised tone of his master. _Mistress_ he should say, however lewd that word sounded in his mind.

"How, pray tell, did four men- _four men_ – slip past my guards unnoticed?! Remind me, _sir_, how many men I've sent upon this task!" Isabella turned to look at Carrey, her dark eyes gleaming with fury. "Go on, do tell!"

The newly instated Master at Arms chewed on his answer, before saying:

"Three units... _my lady_"

Isabella turned her back to him, and began walking towards the sheriff's chair. Her right hand kept fidgeting about some silver necklace... a locket, if Carrey's sight proved right.

"And that would be...?"

"...Seven and twenty" he said through gritted teeth. The day was proving worse than he'd thought it would be. But he'd work off his frustration back in Locksley. He had to stifle a disgusting grin.

"Aye! _Twenty-seven_!" he heard his 'mistress' exclaim, so that all guards and people in command could hear. God, he hated the woman.

"And now, tell me, _sir_ Carrey" Isabella walked up the steps on which the sheriff's chair stood, and fell graciously on the embroidered pillows. "Tell me... _how did Hood and his men manage to fool twenty-seven, fully-armed guards_?! They _escaped_, you insufferable, useless oaf! And it's all_ your_ fault!"

Before Carrey's rage could reach the hollow where his heart should've been, the great door opened with a swing, and a single guard strode in. He bore marks of struggle: His face was covered with dried blood and dirt, but, despite both, cracked in a victorious smile.

"I bring news, milady!" he limped towards the podium where Isabella sat. "Great news they be indeed!"

"DO tell" the sheriff gave the man a glance from underneath her long eyelashes. This had better be good...

The guard righted himself and announced excitedly (and not without a hint of pride),

"Robin Hood an' his men are headed for Lincoln. They be searchin' for the former sheriff's_ lost treasure_."

* * *

With one swift pull, Guy gathered her back into his arms.

"You see, freedom is a tricky thing..." he said, drawing her close. "...it's not so easily taken from feisty creatures like _you_."

Meredith's blood boiled at the tinge of amusement audible in his voice.

"How dare you-"

But she wasn't allowed to finish, as Guy suddenly closed the distance between them and kissed her fully on the lips.

Instead of an elaborate insult he was met with a stifled gasp, which soon turned into a quiet moan.

He wouldn't admit to anyone that he'd imagined what it would be like to kiss her. It was a matter of moments, when he realized this was... _right_. It _felt_ right. But it also felt like... _fire_. Burning brightly at his core and rapidly taking control of his heart, which before today he thought to be dead.

Meredith felt her body respond before the mind could even fathom what was happening.

When she closed her eyes, the remains of strength vanished into thin air, leaving her right there, in that moment, where she was drawn into a whirl of sensations; warmth of his mouth on hers, his unbelievably strong arms crushing her against him, and the frantic beating of her own heart, threatening to shatter at any moment. To her it was like... delving into a mighty sea and letting it take you wherever it wished.

Meredith was beyond the ability of pulling away when she heard a voice calling her name. Her half-conscious mind discerned the familiar tone, and when it drew nearer, a name appeared to match the voice. _Silverneedle_. But did she care?

Guy's hand moved gently up her back, eventually tangling in her long, amber hair. Oh, it would be too hard to care when– wait... _John_ Silverneedle?

She was quickly reminded of _who_ the man holding her actually was. The realization pulled her back to earth so suddenly, that she surely would've stumbled if not for the pair of strong arms holding her captive.

Feeling the change in her, Guy pulled away, opening his eyes to the sight of a _very_ confused, _very_ angry Meredith. Her eyes were two emerald flames, but still a bit clouded over, unfocused.

And then the inevitable came.

With all of her might (what was left of it), the woman freed herself from his grasp and stumbled backwards, until her back hit the closest tree trunk.

"Y-you..." her words came in between uneven breaths "...You have _no _right to-"

"_Meredith!_" turning back towards Locksley, they saw a blink of color between the trees, in the far distance.

Anger made way to a slight panic, when Meredith realized what would happen if someone saw her and Gisborne together... Scratch that; what would happen if they saw _the man who_ _should be dead_, perfectly alive and well? All hell would break loose if the secret was revealed, she was sure enough of that.

Guy looked as if he was thinking the same thing. He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.

"Do you _want_ to be caught?" he asked angrily, taking her hand in his and pulling her towards an unknown direction; but Meredith's mind had enough time to compose itself. She slipped out of his grip, and distanced herself from the tall man, ready to run, should he wish to catch her again.

"Do _you_?" she retorted, observing him carefully. The anger she felt was beginning to take over, making it all the more difficult to think straight.

"_Meredith_!" the voice was drawing closer.

"You do not belong here!" she hissed, withdrawing step by step towards the village. She couldn't let anyone see Guy alive.

"Go back to wherever you came from, and _leave us be_!" with those words, she turned and ran to where Locksley lay, not giving him the slightest chance to stop her.

As she tore through the woodland thicket, the memory of his embrace kept haunting her thoughts; and however she tried to believe otherwise, Meredith didn't really _want_ to forget that delicious moment of weakness.


	19. Chapter 19: Careful dancers

"_You do not belong here!" she hissed, withdrawing step by step towards the village. _

"_Go back to wherever you came from, and _leave us be_!" with those words, she turned and ran to where Locksley lay, not giving him the slightest chance to stop her._

Gisborne stood there for a few moments, dumbstruck, trying to fathom what had just happened. They had an argument... he didn't recall what about, and then they– and then _he_ kissed her. A moment of weakness which he'd have to pay for later, but somehow... he couldn't bring himself to regret the action.

Remembering her so close in his arms, so small and fragile that he could easily break her, and yet possessing a spirit stronger than any he had ever encountered. Beautiful. Unearthly. Almost out of reach... yet still - even if it was for a split second - he managed to reach her. But then again... was she here _now_?

Suddenly, the feeling of previous heated euphoria began to give way to a flame of yet another nature.

It didn't matter now that they came so close; it didn't matter that for the first moment he felt her respond; the only thing that mattered, was that she broke away from him, and left. Refused to go with him. And he let her go.

The angry fire that started somewhere below the ribs soon came to bind his heart, quickly spreading along his spine. Guy knew this feeling. This wasn't just anger. It was fury.

The closest thing to hit was a tree. And a tree it was.

He didn't even feel the throbbing pain in his knuckles as his fist made contact with the tree. Swinging his arm once more, he hit another one, bruising his hand further.

"What for...?" he asked through gritted teeth, breathing ragged. "She must hate me now. She _does _hate me".

He repeated those words vehemently, until they became easier to believe. Oh, Guy of Gisborne was indeed a master of deceit; especially when it concerned his heart.

"_Meredith!_" a voice sounded farther off in the woods, this time enriched by a hint of surprise. She must've been found. _Good._

Guy started walking, not really aware of his direction, but wanting to get as far as possible from that _accursed_ Locksley.

He could barely see the path between the trees, as his thoughts focused on the only thing that seemed logical now:

Meredith hates him. So he must learn to hate her too.

* * *

"There you are! We've been looking for you!" she saw him coming towards her through the thicket. She slowed down her frantic pace, not wanting to raise any additional questions. They came anyway.

"Carrey took off some time ago. Where have you been?" John Silverneedle wouldn't let it pass. He cared too much about her to leave things be. Too much of a friend sometimes, Meredith thought.

"I was... I took a walk" the woman shrugged as she passed him, unwilling to stop at any cost. He might see how her hands trembled if she did.

"More like a run, it seems" said John, falling into step beside her. "I've not seen this much color in your face for ages" he added, a truly worried look in his eye.

Meredith raised a hand to touch the rosy blush blossoming over her cheeks. The earth might fall into pieces and winds might roar overhead, but it was Guy of Gisborne that made her world tremble. No, no she shouldn't think about that.

She silently promised never to let her emotions get the better of her again. They've been quite soundly locked away for some years now – besides, wasn't she known for her perfect composure?

"The presence of lord Carrey is positively suffocating" she said, feeling her companion's stare grow more inquisitive. "I needed to breathe."

"I see."

They fell silent, but Meredith still felt his eyes upon her. No, she wasn't getting the so longed-for solitude any time soon; John would make sure of that.

The rustle of foliage under their feet was slowly diminishing, as they walked out of the forest and onto a grassy path, close to the western road. The woman could hear the merry singing and laughter long before the painted carts and excited people came into view. Her companion stopped suddenly, turning her to face him, a queer look in his eye.

"Dear Day– may I call you Day?" he asked and continued before she could respond. "I've been thinking – just a general wonderment – whether you have anything planned for today's festivities?"

Meredith blinked back to reality.

"What on earth are you up to?" she eyed him warily, a cautious smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Well..." he took her hand and placed it over the crook of his arm "...Call me old-fashioned, but dancing is the best way to get rid of all worries. You know I'm a man of a few words, but when I say something, I really mean it."

"I'm not worried" she retorted, a second too quickly. "And I'm not dancing today."

John chuckled and winked at her mischievously.

"Wanna bet?"

Meredith laughed, feeling the weight on her heart shift considerably. She needed this – the light-hearted talk, the merriment of a bright, sunny day... She needed physical effort to unwind, to stop thinking for a few, sweet moments. The solitude could wait.

* * *

The sun rolled lazily past the horizon, dipping into the outline of Sherwood and adorning it with a thin lining of fire. Night fell quickly afterwards, but not a second too soon for Meredith.

She had spent the last few hours in the midst of merry people, sometimes dancing, sometimes talking with people from different villages. There were quite a lot who came from Clun, Nettlestone and even a few from Lenton, where her uncle's family lived. Jane passed her once or twice, beckoning her to go and try her luck in some game or other, and disappearing into the colorful crowd before Meredith could stop her. The feverish atmosphere spread to all that entered Locksley grounds that evening; even the nobles who arrived one by one in their expensive carriages couldn't resist the truly 'magical' influence of the day.

Observing the festivities in all of their unrestrained quirkiness and diversity – even from afar - could be a great source of excitement in itself.

After the sun has set, Meredith was incapable of thinking in terms of reason; it has all vanished into thin air, stifled by the light-hearted merriment that peaked out from every nook and corner.

"I haven't been this exhausted for ages" she said, finally collapsing onto a bench. John Silverneedle sat next to her, smiling silently. His eyes kept darting around, as if looking for someone in the crowd around them.

Meredith breathed, reveling in the sweet taste of the evening air. _He hadn't followed her. He was safe now. Probably fuming with rage – or hatred – but safe nonetheless._

The stars shone brightly overhead, reminding her of tiny sparkles of water on a midnight-blue cloak; turning red, then crimson, and falling gently until they touched her fingers...

"I thought I'd find you here!"

Meg jumped from behind the bench, settling herself contentedly between Meredith and John. The latter suddenly stopped scanning the crowd, his eyes freezing on some far-off point above the rooftops.

"What a fine evening it is!" she said, grinning widely at her cousin and barely noticing her companion.

"A fine one indeed."

Meredith pondered on the possibilities for a moment, before adding:

"But there is something missing, if you ask me"

Meg shot her a surprised look, the mane of chestnut hair falling over her furrowed brow when she turned abruptly.

"There's music. There are jesters and lots of food. And dancing. What more could you possibly want?" She sounded surprised as well as a bit irritated at her cousin's lack of enthusiasm. She herself thought the event to be the true heaven on earth.

Meredith smiled at that.

"Don't be cross with me, Meghan" she simply said. "I merely wanted to imply that no night such as this should be celebrated without _the Ringabel_*. There's no fun without it, I daresay" she added, trying to sound as serious as the situation allowed.

The red-haired girl turned to look at the small market, where all of the dances took place.

"Why, they're starting to play it right now!" she exclaimed, turning back after a moment.

"Are they really?"

This was just too much to bear, and an amused smile escaped Meredith without her will or knowledge. '_Play the game well_' she said to herself.

"I haven't seen you dance for centuries now" she said, looking almost pleadingly at her cousin. "Meg, I see you still have lots of energy left? I am too weary at the moment, and the dance is, after all, the tradition of our homeland..."

The red-haired girl bit her lip, searching for traps in the proposition. Seeing none, she answered slowly:

"I _do_ wish to see how well I remember it..."

The bench shifted as John rose suddenly, his face almost as red as Meg's hair.

"I would be honored-" the words that left his mouth were meant to be confident, but failed in achieving their purpose. "If you would...that is I..."

"Oh for goodness sake!"

Meg took his arm and – much to the man's amazement – pulled him towards the market. Soon they disappeared from view, swallowed by the crowd; now a swirling myriad of vivid colors.

Meredith sat for a moment, her laugh slowly diminishing.

The worries of the days past seemed desperate to crawl back into her head as soon as she was left alone; but this time the tide took a different turn.

Looking past the rooftops and into the endless sky, she remembered yet another night, not so long ago, when things changed for her, altering the paths of her future. What if she had known back then? And did she _truly_ understand it now?

The hour was dark, such as this one; silence rang among the trees and the slightest movement of the branches could easily be heard. The moonlight shone upon a clearing, pale and ghostly, where someone's fate had been decided. Meredith knew - or rather tried to imagine - how close to death both of them had come that night. She had seen something moving in the shadows then, watching... And it was not of this good earth.

The light had come soon afterwards, driving the darkness away with its living breath. He had been brought back before her very eyes – from where, she did not know - and there was only One whom the thanks could be assigned to.

But Meredith still wondered; what if that Someone decided differently? What if she had never met Sir Guy? What if he fell into death's abyss, not having a chance to meet his redemption?

The stars shone overhead, magnificent in their simple glory. Similar lights burned on earth, lanterns and torches, seemingly brighter than their heavenly sisters - but Meredith suddenly realized that farther things seem more perfect and beautiful than those which are close, familiar to the eye.

Something told her, that Guy of Gisborne had yet an important part to play in the battle for Nottingham. Either with or against them, to their victory or ruin – she would see him on the battlefield when the game is set. There were both anticipation and anxiety in the thought.

Meredith's mind turned, settling once more on their last, not so remote encounter. Her heart trembled upon remembering the feelings that overpowered her then; she couldn't name even one of them, so new and foreign they were.

Was _she _also included in forging Nottingham's fate? Or was she just one of the onlookers, watching passively as the events unraveled?

Meredith stood up with a sigh, pushing away the gloomy thoughts. _There's nothing I can do about it now. Things will go on, be it with or without me. This is _not_ my story._

* * *

Her feet carried her to the market, where dancers hopped and swirled all over the dusty circle. At this point of the night, most of the villagers had gathered to watch the youngsters (for mostly youngsters it was) continue the merry joy, when they themselves had no energy for it. Quite a bit of a crowd surrounded the 'dance floor', and Meredith had to sneak her way to the front to be able to see anything above the sea of colorful hats.

About a dozen couples danced their way around the circle to the sounds of music and the crowd's lively clapping.

Meg had already grown accustomed to her partner's presence, which could not be said about the man himself. John Silverneedle emanated happiness and pride with an almost blinding clarity; with the corner of her eye, Meredith saw a few people smile knowingly or laugh out loud at the unlikely pair. There was always a certain honesty and warmth about all of their jokes, and so she bore no ill will against them, laughing and clapping her hands along with them.

The sound of horse hooves cut through the noise.

Like a sharp blade it fell onto the crowd, silencing it at once. All anxious eyes turned to the eastern road. The music and merriment ceased, when six hooded men rode one by one into Locksley, led by a tall, proud man on a black steed.

All hearts beat as one, awaiting danger; shrinking from an inexplicable fear.

"I see my presence was not needed here!" the leader rode onto the dusty circle: Both dancers and onlookers moved hurriedly aside to avoid being trampled.

"Oh do not cease your _prancing_ because of _me_!" he said, upon dismounting and removing his hood. Meredith recognized William Carrey, and immediately wished to escape the front of the crowd. The people behind her seemed unwilling to cooperate, as they pressed her farther and farther into the circle.

"Me and my men wish to see some of your _games_ before the night is out" Carrey said, when his six companions also dismounted, removing their hoods and cloaks.

"You!" he pointed to a group of young boys, gathered a few yards from where Meredith stood. "Take our horses to the stables. And bring us wine!" he bellowed, already walking towards the nearby table set with all kinds of food.

The villagers slowly began to wake from their previous state of shock. _Was Carrey in a good mood?_ _Maybe something happened at the castle, bringing up his better side?_

But the face Meredith saw upon the master's arrival was not a face of a happy man. It bore clear, unmistakable signs of rage, even more dangerous as it was kept hidden from view... but not for long.

When she turned, determined to _plough_ through the crowd if it only saved her from Carrey's eyes, she heard him speak:

"Is our company not to your liking, young woman?"

Meredith froze. So he _had_ seen her. Suddenly the air became too cold to bear.

"My lord?" she said weakly, turning to meet the man's gaze. '_Tread carefully'_ she told herself '_Tread carefully, or die_'.

"Dance, sing us something, or do whatever it is that you usually do!" Carrey's eyes did not move an inch from where she stood, keeping her in place.

"I have had enough of these fools!" he gestured towards the group of jesters "We require one of your _talents_ for our amusement. Will you not dance?"

"My lord I-"

"Is that all you can say? '_My lord'_?" he interrupted, an impatient flame in his eye. And then, his gaze landed on someone else and Meredith was allowed to breathe. One, withering breath.

"Well then, seeing that you're not willing..." his voice suddenly grew darker "...let's have a _game_, shall we?"

He turned, still not looking at her. She followed his gaze, but before she could reach its point of interest, two of Carrey's men dragged it out from the crowd; Meredith's blood froze upon seeing the familiar figure.

It was Meghan.

* * *

**_A/N: Sorry for the huge delay. Usual disclaimers apply. Thanks to all readers still out there. Reviews of course appreciated._**

**_*The Ringabel is obviously a lively dance that I made up :)_**


	20. Chapter 20: When darkness falls

There was nothing that man could do to break Meredith's willpower. Nothing, except the thing he had _just_ done. The woman wanted to intervene in some way, but her legs felt heavy as lead; her mind struggled pointlessly to keep the panic at bay.

"My lord, please-"

"If" Carrey raised a hand, silencing her "If _you_ refuse to obey my command, then _she_" he gestured towards the wriggling red-head "would be given away to my men."

There was a loud squeal, and one of the men keeping Meg captive reeled back, doubling over in pain.

"I'd rather die than let these devils touch me!" came a heated retort, followed by an ill-calculated kick at the second guard.

"That could be arranged" Carrey's lips cracked in a disgusting smile, as three more of his men came to help hold the girl still. "But who would benefit from it, I wonder?"

Meredith swallowed another wave of fear. With a few strides she was at Carrey's side.

"My lord I beg you" she said, lowering herself down onto her knees "This matter does not concern her: please, let her go..."

"I said I require amusement, and I _will _have it!" he snapped, rising suddenly. Meredith was roughly knocked over, scratching her knees and ankles on the stones. The depth of hatred she saw in his eyes made her heart contract with fear. If only she feared for herself...

"I will do it then! I will!" she cried in a shaking voice, but Carrey was already halfway to where Meg was standing. He let out a cruel laugh, catching her cousin's chin in his gloved hand and jerking it painfully upwards.

"Not enough" he chimed.

Meredith gathered all courage that was left in her, and slowly rose to her feet. '_My child, remember who you are_' her mother's long forgotten words came back to her now '_Others can break you only if you let them_. _Be strong, my child_'.

"I'm not strong enough, mama" she whispered, so quietly that it might as well have been just a thought. "But I _will not_ be broken."

No longer was she afraid, no longer was her gaze dimmed with worry. She stood straight again, breathing steadily.

"My lord Carrey" she called, raising her head high "I would be honored to fulfill your wish"

With that, she dropped into a low, graceful curtsey, keeping her eyes fixed on the lord of Locksley.

She could feel the people's gaze on her, weighing her down, but she refused to break down under it. There was nothing more dear to her now than her cousin's life, which was visibly hanging by a thread. She deeply regretted ever coming to the festivities.

Carrey's men froze in their places; Meg ceased to struggle, pricking her ears anxiously for the sentence awaiting them both. When it came, dead silence engulfed the crowd:

"Better. But not good enough"

A dagger flashed in the torchlight. All hearts stopped; all breaths ceased. Death entered the dusty circle.

And then something happened, stilling Carrey's hand: Meredith began to sing.

_Where the seas of waters white,_

_Rolling hills so green and bright -_

_There our hearts forever stay_

_Night and day, oh, night and day._

It was a simple song. Nothing more than a common tune, a lullaby sang to restless children; but the lord of Locksley stood there, unmoving, listening, the dagger still in his hand. Something in Meredith's voice had captured him, turning his thoughts from death and anger to things of purity and simplicity. Mesmerizing.

_My heart will sing a mourning song,_

_For I've not seen my land so long –_

_Oh, shame to those who'd never seen_

_The western fields so bright and green._

There was hope, and sadness, and longing intertwined in the tune. Her voice rang clear and melodious, and the people stood in awe – not of the choice of words – but in awe of the faithful heart that shone brightly through the song.

Many a man felt the need to close his eyes, to see for himself the land Meredith sang about. Carrey's men loosened their grip on Meg's arms, the vision of green hills and blue sky seeping lightly into their minds. The lord stood still, the raised dagger trembling slightly in his hand. He could almost see the darkness waver around him, and the light make its way into the circle.

Death's cloak rustled the silent grass as he passed Carrey, disappearing into the shadows. Meredith's voice drove him away into the midnight forest.

_Come back and take me from afar_

_Led by heavens' brightest star -_

_Morning, midnight, light and shade,_

_All that lasts away shall fade..._

The jesters began to wake up from their half-dream. The tallest one moved to stand behind Meredith, and as she kept singing, one by one the rest of the group joined them. The villagers did not pay much attention to the colorful additions, until the gathering started to sing along with the girl; some of them took out flutes and chains of bells to emphasize the rhythm.

_Oh, shame to those who'd never seen_

_The western fields so bright and green_

Those who didn't have any instruments or couldn't sing began to juggle the spare bells or dance around the rest of the group; a masked jester jumped towards the fire, taking three blazing torches with him. He tossed and turned them in the air, catching them with ease when they descended.

Carrey unconsciously lowered his dagger; observing the changing lights, he felt the music engulf him like the quick waters of a highland river. Hypnotized by the song, his men let go of Meg, but she too was affected by it and didn't try to escape. This was no mere tune.

_Morning, midnight, light and shade,_

_All that lasts away shall fade..._

At the words '_away shall fade'_ the masked jester swung one of his torches at the nearest house. The thatched roof caught fire in seconds, bursting with tongues of crimson and gold.

"Fire! Fire!" the villagers woke from the spell upon seeing danger. "Get the water, now!"

But it was already too late. Two other houses caught fire from the first one. The flames began to spread throughout Locksley and the people dispersed, running away from peril, trampling those who didn't move out of their way.

"Water, water!" they cried, but it would've been pointless to try and put out the fire now: Seven houses were already being engulfed by the raging element, quickly limiting the villagers' way of escape.

Meredith stood dumbstruck for a moment, the flames reflecting in her fearful eyes. Jesters scattered in all directions, mixing with the regular people. She saw Carrey's men reach for their swords helplessly, as they too ran for their lives. She caught a glimpse of green and red with the corner of her eye, as a masked figure ran past her, disappearing in Sherwood's murky depth.

"_Meghan_" was her first thought. "_I must find Meghan._"

Swallowing the terror welling up in her core, Meredith followed the last of the escaping villagers, shielding her eyes from the terrible heat. Fire was spreading quickly, and the dusty circle would soon close.

_Fifteen paces past the first house._

Her breath became frantic, limbs filling with lead.

_Two rights, then turn at the well._

Vicious flames reached for her, following her every step. Blood rushed in her ears, drowning out the deafening cracks of fire.

_Pass the old barn and–_

Someone caught her; someone tall and cold.

Before she could force her will to struggle, the person dragged her away from the heat and into the old, crumbling barn. Upon closing the wooden door, the fire's light fell upon his countenance; Meredith saw the harsh pallor of the man's face and his stern, unyielding eyes.

"You..." she breathed, staggering on unsteady legs.

Carrey's eyes darkened. "You cannot imagine..." he said quietly, as the door closed softly behind him.

"... How long I've waited for this."

* * *

Guy saw the flash of red and green between the trees. Leaping out of his hiding place, he started off in that direction, trying to ignore the deathly light of blazing Locksley. Had it not once been his home?

Stepping as quickly and carefully as the foliage allowed him, his thoughts turned to the escaping jester. Who was he? And what made him do such a thing?

When he was barely a few yards from the man, a twig snapped somewhere in the forest. The masked jester turned, startled, and upon seeing a figure in the dark, tore off in another direction.

"You won't get far" breathed Guy, remembering that there was a deep hollow nearby, a fact which his prey could not have been aware of.

Soon he heard a startled yelp and a sound of something heavy making contact with the ground, just as he expected. Tearing through the thicket, Gisborne stopped at the brink of the hollow; a figure lay at its leafy bottom, already trying to get up.

There was no time to spare. He slid down the steep slope just in time to catch the masked man and pin him to the closest tree. Before his prisoner could gather his wits Guy unsheathed his sword, putting it to the man's exposed throat.

"One false move" he hissed "And the next fire you see will be the flames of hell."

The light of the blazing village barely touched the brink of the hollow, drowning the rest of it in deep shadow. But Guy of Gisborne's sight could not be dimmed even on the darkest of nights.

"Now, let's see who you really are..." with that, he moved his blade up, cutting the strings with which the mask had been tied. It slid from the man's face and fell noiselessly to the ground.

The moon chose that moment to shine through the tree branches, filling the hollow with a pale, silver light. Guy's sword trembled in his hand, his anger disappearing suddenly.

"How in the world–"

He groaned when the jester kicked him in the stomach, making him stumble backwards. Gisborne fell on his back, gasping for breath, while his would-be pray started into the darkness, soon disappearing at the other side of the hollow.

_He escaped_. Searing pain shot through Guy's side, tearing at the wound he had received just a few days ago. He truly was in no condition to fight just yet.

But neither pain nor anger could appease the thoughts, the memories running rampant in his mind.

He had seen those eyes before; he knew them better than his own soul...

Seeing them on that stranger brought out the best and worst remnants of his past, taking away his ability to breathe.

They were the eyes of his mother.

* * *

Carrey stepped closer, looming over Meredith like a dark, cold-blooded predator. She moved back until she was pressed against the wall of straw bales.

"Such naiveté" he said, and Meredith shrank under his gaze. "Did you really think no one would know?"

Her heart leapt in her chest at the question. _He found out. He knows about Guy._

"M-my lord I–"

"Quiet! I will hear no more from you!" he interrupted, shoving her into the straw bales. The woman fell through the unstable wall, scratching her arms and face.

"Creatures like you should not be allowed to speak" Carrey growled, following her as she tried to back away from him. "The land you sang about is no more. Soon all of your brothers and sisters will perish from fire and sword of the great English" she was pulled up roughly by the collar, until their eyes were level. His irises were like ice, pupils burning with pure, undiminished hatred.

Meredith could've stood up to him, she could, but not then, not after running through the flaming village; not when the only thing she feared was already upon her.

Crimson flames were licking at the entrance of the barn, rising high and almost reaching the roof.

"My lord, the fire-" she didn't finish as Carrey tightened his grip on her collar painfully. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe; she could see thick clouds of smoke swelling around them, but the lord didn't seem to care.

"Your land... your _Wales_" he almost spat the word out. "It was, it _is_ ours. You won't prevail..."

A dagger flashed in his hand for the second time that night. Meredith tried to wriggle herself free from his grasp but her body refused to obey. Fear paralyzed her. It wasn't the fear of death, and not even of Carrey...

"_Why do you hate us?_"

It wasn't more than a feeble whisper, barely audible against the cracking of flames. The man smiled wickedly, but something new appeared in his maddened gaze.

"How can I not?" he asked. "You've taken everything from me."

And before another word could be uttered, the deadly blade made its descent...

...missing the target by an inch.

Meredith saw something dark and tall leap out of nowhere; it shoved Carrey off her a second before the dagger could pierce her heart. She gasped for breath, trying to see through the thickening smoke:

Two figures fought fiercely, entangled in a death grip on the wooden floor. As they struggled with each other, her eyes followed their every move. She wanted to cry out, but the smoke and the heat pushed her words back into her throat. Looking frantically around for means of help, Meredith saw that the fire has engulfed the walls, and was already licking at the roof.

A painful moan came from the fighting men. Meredith turned just in time to see the golden flames reflecting from a steel blade, inches from the throat of the defeated one.

It was then that she saw _who_ was to lose his life.

Her heart contracted with mad compassion and she managed to cry out, as the sword sliced through the air:

"_Mercy! Spare him!_"

She didn't see Death as he opened the flaming doors, reaching out its ghostly hand towards one of the men.

Three people stood before _Death_; and only _he_ himself knew, who was to be taken.

* * *

**_Usual disclaimers apply (though the song was written by me). Thank you all readers&reviewers for your great support!_**


	21. Chapter 21: The world you sacrificed

They've been on the road for nearly six hours.

Their horses staggered and tripped on the stones more and more often, while the riders swayed and dozed off in their saddles. The former excitement that Robin managed to pour into them began to recede somewhere throughout the journey. Now none of the men really believed in the success of their mission.

The night had fallen before the gang could reach Lincoln, and Robin was sure they'd find all of the gates locked up soundly. They would have to wait till dawn or think of another way to get in – if it were Nottingham, the matter would not sound so serious; but what the leader failed to tell them, was that he had never been to Lincoln in his entire life. Unfortunately, none of them have.

Robin furrowed his brow, trying to see through the pitch-black darkness stretching out ahead of him.

How on earth did he get mixed up in this?

"_What do you mean 'not dead'?"_

_When he arrived at their camp the last morning, he was greeted with a chorus of joyful and angered voices, all demanding an explanation for his long absence. While he sat and told them the happenings of the previous night, they sat with their mouths open, quiet as they'd never been before. _

_Questions came afterwards. A lot of them. Too much for him to answer._

"_Alive. That's what I mean" he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And don't ask me any more about it, Much; I don't know what to think myself!"_

"_But how is it possible?" the blond-haired man walked anxiously to and fro. "Master, how can someone– a mortal rise from the dead?"_

_Allan and Kate sat silently, both deep in thought. Tuck tried to grasp for words to form another question, but for once they managed to escape him. Little John stood behind the monk and it was hard to guess whether he was listening or not._

"_I don't think that's the case, Much. The rumors must've been exaggerated." Replied Robin, wishing for all of this to end as quickly as possible. They had a task to perform, and very little time._

"_Either way - dead or alive - he won't trouble us anymore" he added, reaching for his bow and arrows._

_All members of the gang turned to look at him, expecting a further explanation. _

_Robin sighed, trying to stifle his irritation. They had the right to know. But they'd have to do with the shorter version for now – the time was running short._

"_When we woke, back at the Three Rocks" he began, checking the ties on the arrow-heads "I thought he'd want to resume our fight. Our swords lay at our sides, as if we'd just fallen asleep and nothing extraordinary happened. I saw Gisborne get to his feet and grasp his sword, so I quickly followed, waiting for him to attack me. He didn't. I only saw how he put the weapon back in its sheath, and turned back from me as if he wanted to walk away. When I called after him, he said: 'Enough. I've nothing left in me to fuel my revenge. I wish to fight no more. It's over.' I believe these were his exact words. I admit I couldn't find my voice for a moment. It seemed as though it wasn't Gisborne at all, but a different man speaking through him. 'Am I to believe you?' I asked him. 'Do as you will. I care not.' he answered, turning to walk away once more. 'You will leave Nottingham, then?' I said, following him._

'_Nottingham will fall soon, and you along with it. My home lies elsewhere' _

'_Then you'll leave your city in the hour of greatest need?' It was hard to tell whether I was crossing his patience. As I said before, he seemed an entirely different man._

'_It is not _my_ city any longer. Nor is it my duty to defend it.' He turned and looked at me. I believe I've never seen such an empty, lifeless gaze; it felt as if I was peering into a cold, black void._

'_May we never cross paths again, Hood' said Gisborne to me. 'For if we do, it will not be as brothers, but mortal enemies. May we never meet again.' With that, he walked away" Robin ended his story, tying a string tighter around one of the arrow-heads._

"_And you let that-that _snake_ go?" Kate's voice was trembling._

"_Why didn't you finish him off, master?"_

_Robin shot them an angered look. _

"_If you saw what I had seen, you'd not be so rash to raise your sword against him." _

_All became quiet. And then Tuck spoke for the first time since Robin's appearance._

"_What was it that you saw?" he asked quietly. "What was it?"_

_Robin lowered his gaze, his anger giving way to confusion. He shook his head, words failing him once more._

"_I cannot explain it... I cannot."_

Pondering on his enemy's words from last morning, a sliver of understanding brightened his weary mind. He had seen that emptiness before, though he wanted to forget the terrible sight... the same shadow was present in Marian's eyes... when her life slipped away from his grasp.

It was the shadow of death.

* * *

"_Mercy! Spare him!_"

The sword froze in his hand, as he heard her cry through the thickening smoke.

His mind has been clouded over by a blood-red veil of fury. The man trapped under his weight had lost in a fight, and he, Guy, will bring justice upon him. The steel blade dug deeper into the sensitive flesh on the man's throat, a thin rivulet of blood staining the cold metal. It would be so easy, _so_ _easy_ to twist the sword a bit farther and end that miserable life he now held in his grasp...

"Sir Guy, please!"

Suddenly, he felt a cold hand on his arm; Meredith kneeled down next to him.

"It's not worth it..." She tried to drag the blade away from Carrey's throat. "Please Sir Guy, try to see reason–"

"Reason?!" he hissed in return. "Can't you see what he is?!"

Carrey's eyes switched between the two of them, the trace of fear visible in his features. Meredith's hands trembled as she tried to pull the sword from Gisborne's grasp; to no avail.

"Have- have mercy–"

"Since the very day I came here" Guy cut in, a malicious glint in his eye "I've received nothing but evil- careless evil from his hands. This calls for justice. He deserves to die!"

The blade was now aimed at Carrey's heart with every intent to kill.

"So did you!"

Meredith's cry rose above the rushing of blood in Guy's ears; above the cracking of fire.

"You were no different from him once!"

The blade stopped once more, barely a movement away from Carrey's death.

The depth of Guy's soul brought before his eyes a river of memories, something he'd kept hidden for many years... a sliver of good, which he had thought to be weakness... words of praise when he helped his father at Gisborough; the laugh of his little sister when he'd managed to chase away her tears; Marian's thankful smile when he saved her from the Sheriff... and then something stained the clear images. Days of hunger and poverty. Days when he had been humiliated, scorned and ridiculed. Every person his sword had ever touched appeared before him: a crowd of pale, ghostly figures... behind them stood those who died because of his thoughtless doings, peasants whom he didn't have the will to defend from their undeserved punishment.

His blackened heart churned as the memories flooded his mind. _Why had he never... why didn't he see that before?_

It was for the battles. The battles he had to fight with his conscience when all had gone black.

"Why are you defending him?" he breathed, withdrawing the blade slowly.

Meredith rested one of her hands on his arm, easing it further away from Carrey. She tried to force calmness into her voice, despite the danger they were in.

"Like there was for you, there is still hope for him."

Suddenly a flaming beam fell from the roof, crumbling the barn's foundations. Fire was all around them, the air thickening with the terrible heat. Red and golden tongues were licking hungrily at the straw bales, fueling the spiteful fire. There was no time. They had to get out of there.

"_Nid y tân_" he heard a trembling whisper. The hand holding his arm withdrew. "_Nid...tân._"

Guy turned: Meredith was staring wide-eyed at the raging element, a binding terror written plainly across her features. She tried to move as far away from the flames as she could; to somehow shield herself from the cruel heat.

Without much thought, he let go of Carrey. His sword gave a low 'clink' as it fell to the ground.

"Meredith..."

It was as if she didn't see him. He could see how she trembled, how her eyes reflected the golden flames surrounding them... There was no time to lose.

He reached out for her, the remains of his anger evaporating at the sight of her terror. She tensed, refusing to look anywhere else but at the wall of flames.

"Meredith, come..." but his voice was drowned out by the sudden roar of fire.

And then, three things happened at once.

Something flew past Meredith like a silvery lightning; Carrey leapt out of nowhere with Gisborne's sword in hand; the second beam supporting the roof fell with a deafening thud, raising a cloud of fire.

For a few terrible moments the world drowned in the ashen darkness.

* * *

The dust burned her skin. Last breaths of cold air escaped her. She could feel the fire closing in about her, its malevolent tongues reaching out to devour all life...

But then someone's strong arms caught her, pulling her away from the flames' grasp; shielding her from the heat and biting ash.

Her legs could no longer support her; she staggered and would've fallen, if her savior hadn't kept a firm hold on her. Within seconds she was picked up with ease and carried the rest of the way. Through a thick veil of darkness mingled with flashing lights, she could hear a voice: all malice of the world she knew poured into that one, faltering sound.

"Nothing will ever keep you from our wrath. You will die in the fires of war, like your forbears before you! Fear the flame of the Fifth Son! Fear the flame that heralds your land's death..."

The last words were drowned out by the deafening rumble of crashing wood and fire. A shadow of death passed her mind; she could hear the cold, calculating steps it made as it passed them, heading in the opposite direction.

A chill of fresh air roused her senses, her lungs starving for the cold, sweet medicine.

The malicious words echoed in her head, though she couldn't yet grasp their meaning... everything was so hazy and blurred. She thought she could hear a frantic beating of a heart – _was it her own?_ – somewhere close. An undeniable presence of a someone. She felt safe.

"_I hear echoes..._" she whispered, half-aware of the words that escaped her mouth. "_I hear... are they in my mind? They must be..."_

Her hand reached out, as if to touch the fleeting thoughts, but instead caught hold of a rough fabric, warm against her fingers.

"_Am I dreaming...?_"

After a while she was lowered onto the soft grass. It bent gently under her weight and cooled her skin with droplets of midnight dew. Then someone gathered her into his arms once more, letting her back lean against his warm chest.

* * *

They sat in the cool shadow of Sherwood, leaning against one of the mighty oaks.

Guy held Meredith firmly, trying to calm her as she turned restlessly in his arms. Unknown words fell from her lips in a mismatched tumble, '_pennaeth_' and '_adlais_' most prominent among them. She trembled, though her brow was burning with a fever.

He looked back at the smoldering remains of the barn. Carrey was dead; crushed by the beam that fell from the roof. His dagger didn't miss its target, but fortunately it did no greater harm as it brushed against Meredith's left arm. The light bleeding stopped when he bound it with a strip torn from his shirt. The only thing worrying him now was her raging fever, and that she had lost consciousness.

Guy had to persuade himself that the danger had passed. They were safe. Relatively safe.

"If only you had come with me..." he said in hushed tones, brushing away a strand of hair from her sweat covered brow.

"_Y tân ..._" she breathed, trembling. „_Mae'n clymu i – i mi ... tân ..._"

"Shh- all is well now, all is well..." He calmed her, as one would calm a restless child. Raven black hair intertwined with waves of auburn gold as he rocked her gently, his voice deep and soothing.

'_How can someone show such bravery... or recklessness in one moment, and a second later appear so helpless, so... fragile?_' he thought to himself, looking at Meredith's pale features with wonder. She stopped him from sending yet another soul to the Beyond; from staining his hands with fresh blood. Who in the world could have it in them to forgive such a devil as Carrey? Someone with a great, compassionate heart... someone who wouldn't leave a dying man to his fate.

Earlier that day he had promised to hate her, thinking she was the first one to harbour that feeling towards him. But now he could hear her words resounding within his mind '_Like there was for you, there is still hope for him_'...

Hope.

Something that could be obtained by all, but not him. Not Guy. It fed his imagination, always adding to the amount of grief whenever his dreams shattered on the cliffs of reality. A blackened soul, bearing the weight of countless crimes... And she said there is still hope...

"_Y tân..._" he was roused out of his reverie by a barely audible whisper. "_Y tân..._ the fire..."

His heart – what was left of it – melted in his chest upon seeing her weakness. She was drowning in a feverish dream he couldn't wake her from.

"Come, you're safe here... you're safe..." he held her close, not knowing what more he could do.

At that moment she was the most precious thing in the universe. He'd give everything, every last shred of his soul to protect that fragile being; a woman with a heart so great to forgive even_ him_... he'd not let her be stained with his sin. He'd not allow anything evil to touch her.

Suddenly, a memory resurfaced at the brink of his consciousness; one of the days long gone, when he was still ignorant of the world... a tune, sang by his mother to drive away all fears, whenever nights seemed too dark, and storms too fierce... It kept him company many years after his parents had died, and his inheritance had been lost.

He rested his chin on Meredith's head, passing some of his warmth into her shivering form, and trying to remember the long-forgotten song.

"_Quand j'étais jeune..._" he began in a low whisper "_Ma chère, seul douce, la nuit semblait sombre, et l'ombres craintifs..._"

The silence around them was one of a careful listener. Sherwood's trees bent their leafy branches closer to the unlikely pair, listening intently to the soothing voice of the black-clad man. The thicket – from deepest root to the lightest twig – resonated with the soft tones, closing around them like a river of dark velvet.

_Et chaque ombre,_

_Était l'ennemi ruse._

_Mais ensuite,_

_J'ai appris une chanson,_

_Il réchauffe le cœur et l'âme_

_Avec la lumière, et de courage,_

_Même sur une sombre nuit_

Meredith's breathing became even as she began to give in to the tune. Her fever seemed to diminish; steady warmth seeped into her body with the healing words. Sherwood didn't know that song, and it dipped its branches lower, as if to hear better; the light brush of wind carried the foreign tones farther into the forest, shattering it between the trees into a thousand soft echoes.

_Dormir, et ne pas avoir peur,_

_Car je suis ici, je suis si près,_

_Les ombres ne viendra pas,_

_Quand vos bien-aimés regarder._

_Dormir, et ne pas avoir peur,_

_Car je suis ici, je suis si près,_

_Votre cœur doit pas trembler,_

_Quand vos bien-aimés regarder..._

"_Quand vos bien-aimés regarder.._." the last words fell into a midnight silence. Before long, the cool wind carried them back: It knew all tongues of the world, all songs that the forests and seas failed to understand. This is how it translated the song, when it reached the couple's ears:

"_When I was young, my dear, sweet one, the night seemed dark; the shadows fearful. And every shade – a sinister enemy. But then I learned a song that heart and soul will warm, with light and courage even for a darkest night; Sleep, sleep and do not fear, for I am here, I stand so near, the shadows will not come, till your beloved keeps watch. Sleep, sleep and do not fear, for I am here, I stand so near. Your heart needs not tremble, till your beloved keeps watch_..."

The last breath of wind rustled the dried foliage, whispering its way through the grass. A light fell on the droplets of dew, reflecting the golden light of the dying flames. Guy woke from his half-dream, suddenly reminded of where he was, and what had just happened. _The fire_.

He looked down at Meredith worriedly. She felt limp in his arms, the pallor of her face contrasting with the warm light of the fire. Weak. Fading.

The song might've lulled her to sleep, might've even soothed her nightmares, but it wasn't capable of healing maladies of the body.

"We need to find help..."

Guy picked her up gently, careful not to hurt her injured arm. With a few careful steps he slipped out of Sherwood's sleeping depth, thankful for the cover of shadows where the fire did not reach. Throughout the day he had managed to observe the tripled number of guards, and certainly didn't wish to bump into any of them.

But where could he go? Where could he find help after most of the village has been devoured by fire?

While he sneaked past the burned-down huts, a thought – and not an entirely welcome one - appeared at the back of his head. There might still be someone... but what proof did Guy have that he, too, hadn't perished in the fire?

Looking down at the woman in his arms, he remembered with how much affection – brotherly or not – she looked at the man; how she smiled at him, so very brightly...

No. He wouldn't go to him for help. Not in a thousand years.

'_It's your pride or her life_' a muffled voice called from his conscious. '_The choice is yours_.'

Another look at Meredith's sleeping form, her pale, ghostly features – and Guy of Gisborne turned; he began walking in an entirely different direction, wondering whether letting his consciousness wake up was a good idea after all.

* * *

John Silverneedle started. Someone was banging at the door.

"The guards!" he heard a squeak from behind him. "Don't open the door! Pretend you're not home!"

"Don't be foolish-"

The banging not only didn't stop; it became more insistent by the second.

"I'll better see who it is" John stood and walked to the door before the woman could draw a breath for another protest.

Meg's eyes followed him out of the small room, until he disappeared in the bigger of the two chambers. She silently prayed for it to be some villager looking for help, and not one of Carrey's troops...

'_Maybe they caught Meredith!_' she shivered at the thought. '_Or maybe they are searching for–'_

A loud gasp from the door interrupted her wonderings. A dull, metallic clank followed.

With a sparkle of courage Meg scrambled out of bed, limping slightly because of her painfully burned leg.

She then heard a familiar voice... and though she decided some time ago that she despised the tone, it came as a pleasant surprise, compared to the croaking of Carrey's men. Pleasant, but only until she entered the main chamber.

John Silverneedle stood a few feet from the door; a brass candlestick lay broken on the floor.

She discerned a dark figure standing in the entrance. It was most definitely _him_, but he also held someone in his arms... Meg's rosy cheeks grew pale when the dim light reflected on the long, auburn hair, and the features she knew so well.

"Meredith has been hurt during the fire. She requires your help" the figure said, passing the doorstep impatiently.

The host stumbled away from the newcomer, his eyes wide with fear and wonder.

"You are... that is you should be..."

"I _would_ be, if not for her" the man cut off, looking around for a place to lay the wounded woman.

"And _SHE_ _will be_, if you do not help her" he added with a tone of finality, trying in vain to cover up his worry. "Where...?"

John's throat seemed to tie into a tight knot, but he managed to stammer out:

"Second chamber, right corner under the window."

* * *

**_A/N: Usual disclaimers apply. I'm NOT sorry for putting another of my songs into the story ^^ Unfortunately you'll have to deal with it somehow ;) Huge thanks to all who have reviewed and PM'd me: it's so nice to hear from you guys! :)_**

**_Dictionary (Welsh): 1. Nid y tân - Not the fire, 2. Pennaeth - head, mind, 3. Adlais - echo, 4. Mae'n clymu i mi - It binds me_**


	22. Chapter 22: Shine through the mist

Guy laid his charge carefully on the bed. John Silverneedle followed him from the door, still slightly stunned at the sudden appearance of Nottingham's former master-at-arms. Meg came in after them, carrying the remains of the brass candlestick; a look of utter dismay on her pale countenance.

"What happened?" she breathed, half-afraid of coming any closer to her wounded cousin.

"The fire" The black-clad man stepped away, making room for the physician. "Carrey dragged her into a barn soon after it started. We managed to escape the flames... but just barely. Meredith..." he chewed on his words, not knowing how to describe what he had seen. "...she seemed terrified by the fire. It wasn't a simple _fear_, but something... deeper, as if she could see Death itself..."

Meg shuddered, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

"And what of Carrey? Did he escape too?" asked Silverneedle without looking up from his work.

"He was crushed by a flaming beam, when the roof collapsed" Came a quiet reply.

None of them spoke for several moments.

"There seems to be no serious damage" murmured John, untying the makeshift dressing and revealing Meredith's bleeding arm. "A good ointment and a bandage should heal that wound in no time."

"And yet she's not awake" said Guy, his gaze never leaving Meredith's bed.

Silverneedle checked the girl's pulse, his brow furrowing slightly.

"When did she lose consciousness?" he asked after a while.

"Not more than an hour ago I suppose."

"I see..."

The silence lasted a moment too long for Meg's taste. Something was off, even if the physician's countenance didn't show more than the usual, professional worry. She swallowed hard, preparing to ask the most pressing question in her mind, and was truly thankful when Guy did if for her.

"Is she going to live?"

John snorted, but kept his eyes fixed on his patient.

"Dear Lord, of course! And possibly even longer than all of us here!" he said in what would've been a very convincing tone – if Guy didn't know better.

"Well, there isn't much more I could do" John said, standing back up. "I think it's better to let her rest now. I'll put ointment on her burns and maybe prepare some medicine for after she wakes up. But that's the extent of my powers, I'm afraid."

With that, he came over to a long table on the other side of the chamber, where all kinds of herbs were clustered in jars and bowls; some of them were gathered up in bunches, hanging from the ceiling.

"May I- may I help?" Meg finally managed to ask. She was as pale as snow by now, all of her usual cheerfulness long gone.

John gave her a long look, biting his lip.

"It'll just take a minute" he said slowly, picking a few queer-looking herbs from the colorful bunch. "And may I say that you don't look so well yourself. You'd better go to sleep."

All of a sudden Meg's expression grew defiant. Despite her pallor and trembling lips, a forthcoming storm could be seen in her eyes.

"I'm not a child. If can at least sit with her..."

"...It wouldn't do any good whatsoever. She needs rest; that is all."

"But-"

"That is all, Meghan" said John, forcing all of his decisiveness into those four words. "I will stay with her. Now, please go to sleep."

It seemed to work, for in a few seconds Meg was nowhere to be seen; a slam of the door was the only evidence of her departure.

A full minute passed before the physician looked up from his work again. His eyes met with the sight of a dark figure looming over the head of Meredith's bed. Now that the torches have been lit, John could see the unexpected visitor better:

It was most definitely Guy of Gisborne – from the outside, that is. There seemed to be something different in his eyes and manner of being; something that hasn't been there before. He was changing. An attentive observer would've been able to discern a certain amount of protectiveness and care with which he gazed at Meredith. Of what nature those emotions were born, John didn't dare to guess. He was still a darker presence in a bright place, but the contrast seemed to lessen, as human feelings began to show from underneath this mail-covered shell. Or maybe John's eyes deceived him?

"She should be all right" he stated aloud, not sure of what else to say. Reassurances were a part of his profession, though he'd never taken kindly to lying about his patient's health. He knew something was wrong, but couldn't yet pinpoint what exactly. "There isn't anything to do till morning."

Guy leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his leather-clad chest.

"I am not going anywhere. Not until she wakes up."

"As you wish" said John with a long sigh. He walked over to the bed, carrying a small bowl with ointment, and sat at Meredith's side without looking at the gloomy man. He cleared his throat, gathering his courage to ask the question that he'd never imagined asking.

"We've all heard about- well, about your _departure,_ to put it lightly..." he began to put ointment on Meredith's arms, careful not to irritate her skin. "We were all convinced you wouldn't... _visit_."

"You think I'm a ghost?"

John shrugged, knowing how ridiculous he must sound.

"One sees many things - queer things - over the years..."

Guy rolled his eyes. Maybe if he really died, then the problem of constant explaining wouldn't be of such importance. The thought was grimly amusing.

"I didn't die. Nor did I come back from the beyond" He grunted, annoyed.

"Oh. So why did... why does everyone think otherwise?"

There was silence. But John didn't easily get discouraged by the lack of an answer.

"Is it true then?" he asked after a moment. Guy gave him a disoriented look.

"Is _what_ true?"

John sighed, motioning to Meredith.

"That you would've been dead if not for her."

Guy's gaze moved back to the still form lying on the bed. Her countenance was a deathly shade of white, but other than that she looked almost peaceful, as if she was sleeping. Long waves of amber lay scattered on the pillows, surrounding her head in a silky halo; the dim light made it seem like pure gold.

Guy remembered the night when he'd first seen her. She was like an angel, so caring and pure... so unlike himself. Her beauty lay in her compassionate heart. The heart that he - the unfeeling brute that he was - would never be able to reach. But wasn't it for the best? Wouldn't he simply destroy her if she ever let him close?

'_Yes_' Guy thought, smiling sadly at his own sins. '_She is too good, too pure for me to touch. Staining that beauty would be a crime beyond words_.' And yet when he looked at her, he couldn't help but feel the breathtaking stab of pain in his left side. In his ignorance he let himself believe it was because of the old wound from his sword. He would never admit how deeply the woman's image rooted into his heart – and how hard it would be to let her go.

"Yes" He said quietly, answering John's earlier question. "Yes I would've."

The physician looked as though he wanted to ask some more questions, but bit his tongue instead. It wasn't the time or the place to bring up things that were buried in the past. He had too many things to think about either way.

John Silverneedle rose from his place at last.

"I think I'm done here. She should sleep now and regain her strength". Taking a glance at Guy's grim expression, he added reassuringly "You shouldn't worry too much. Meredith's a strong spirit. She'll be up and about in a day or so."

Gisborne snorted inwardly. Telling him not to worry was like trying to stop a dog from barking: It just couldn't be done.

"I'll not be needed till morning. We have a spare bed in the attic if you-"

"I'd rather stay _here_" Guy interrupted firmly, but then added in a quieter tone:

"Thank you."

John smiled thinly and started putting everything from his desk back into place. At last he put out three out of the four torches that lit the room.

"I'll be in the first chamber if she wakes up" he said, stepping out of the room and closing the door quietly behind him. But before the two chambers were separated, he saw the once proud, beastly man kneel down next to Meredith's bed and put a hand to her pale forehead. There was so much tenderness, so much care in the gesture that for a second John's own heart churned with sadness. He closed the door and returned to the sulky Meg, pondering on the happenings of the days past and wishing that all would solve itself in the morning.

* * *

Archer was beginning to wonder whether Sherwood was hindering him on purpose. He's been walking in circles ever since that man – that devil in human form – made him fall into an exceptionally muddy hollow. The paths that seemed so easy to find in bright daylight were proving impossible to see in the suffocating darkness.

"Horrible places, forests" He grumbled, disentangling himself from yet another bush of wild berries. "If I only had a torch with me..."

The branches above him creaked ominously, and Archer decided not to push his luck with further threats. He'd caused himself enough trouble for one day.

Looking over his shoulder, he expected to see a golden gleam of the flaming village far in the distance: by this time he'd gone so deep into the forest that only a faint glimmer of light could be seen shining through the thicket. He didn't usually care about lives being lost - maybe because he'd never been the cause of it. Never... until now.

What in the world tempted him to throw that torch?

Oh, he knew better than to ask. The village of Locksley was a symbol of the wonderful life that should've been his: all of it - the family, the manor along with its riches and servants. Instead, it kept passing from one lord to another, while no one ever thought of the poor bastard child of Lady Gisborne and Lord Locksley. He didn't matter; he was a nobody.

Archer caught a twig of the nearest tree, crushing it spitefully in his hand. Oh, how sweet and how bitter it had been to watch the village catch on fire! How bright were the crimson flames, and how wonderful the breaths of heat, carried by the wild wind...

His vehement thoughts were suddenly interrupted by an image of a different kind: A spark of clear light in the gloom overshadowing his mind. There was a girl. He and his companions came to her aid, wanting to help somehow and Archer could have a good look at the incredible female. Other women would've burst into tears or fainted in the face of danger; but not she. She stopped Carrey's blade from taking the life of yet another innocent human being. Oh yes, William Carrey's reputation was known far and wide in Nottinghamshire and beyond, so that even the least informed travelers knew a bit of who he was. And the girl stood proudly against that devil, enchanting him and all other listeners with her simple, yet powerful song.

Archer couldn't deny that she impressed him greatly. Having such a companion on one of his adventures would've proven very profitable – with her voice and his wits they could conquer every court and town in England!

A root stuck out of the ground, as if trying to trip him on purpose. Archer went around it, smiling smugly, but failing to see the second, much bigger root. He ended up with his face in the mud, leaves and twigs entangled in his already messy hair.

"When I get to Nottingham" he hissed, trying to stand on the slippery ground. "I swear I'll bring every woodcutter in the city and crush this forest to–"

The trees never got to hear the end of his thought, as something very leafy, and very branch-like, pushed the man (face-down) back into the mud.

* * *

The raging element devoured everything. He was frantically searching for something among the flaming ruins, where darkness was as bright as blood-red fire. He heard voices from all around, mocking, cursing and repeating sinister words like a multiplied echo:

'_Nothing_' the voices called '_Nothing will keep her from their wrath! Nothing!_'

'_She will die_' cried others. '_She will die in the fires, in the fires of war! Death!_'

They repeated the last word with a sinister pleasure, and he kept searching, the anxiety he felt suffocating him like a thick smoke.

'_Death! Death!_' they chanted, louder and louder, as the flames raged all around him.

'You won't touch her! Not until I draw breath!' he shouted back, but his voice was drowned by an outburst of ringing laughter.

'_You? What can you do? You are alone. Alone!_' their laughter rose higher than the burning ruins, it soon reached the stars, knocking the moon from the heavens...

Guy awoke with a start.

He looked around, trying to steady his ragged breathing.

The chamber was drowned in semi-darkness; thin lines of dawn's light streamed in through the many cracks in the shutters, bathing the room in an ashen shadow. He was sitting on the floor, half-leaning against the frame of some bed.

It took him a moment to understand where he was. All of a sudden the happenings of last night began pouring into his restless mind. Locksley festivities. The fire. _Meredith_.

Dream clashed with reality when Guy looked towards the person lying on the bed.

She was still unconscious, though he thought he could see more color in her face. She might've even been dreaming, for her lips were curved in a light smile. The former devil Guy of Gisborne saw with a painful tenderness, how fragile and delicate she looked in the early morning light. It filled his heart with wonder, but also a terrible, nagging feeling that this sight wasn't meant for his eyes.

The words from his dream still reverberated at the back of his head: Now, gazing at the treasure that rested just a few inches away, he knew his strength alone wasn't enough to protect it. He wouldn't risk her life - even for the sake of his pride.

He ran a hand through his unkept mane and gave a short, quiet sigh. There were more people who needed protection. He'd never really understood Hood's concept of helping the poor and oppressed, but lately it began to dawn on him that there was something more to his actions than just making the Sheriff look like a fool. Much more. There was _good_ behind it. Not that Guy would ever call young Locksley a good man. He was an enemy. But an enemy with a good point.

A sudden thought invaded his mind – a glimmer of hope that he held on to for a few moments, setting the outline of a plan around it. The corners of his lips twitched. It was nearly impossible to go on with what he thought up, but... was there anything else he could do?

He got to his feet, suppressing a groan; the floor wasn't the best place to spend the night on, especially after a few days of running, fighting and hiding in the forest.

Guy of Gisborne turned to the door – but just before his reasonable half could protest, the reckless part of his soul directed his steps back to the bed. He leaned over Meredith's sleeping form and placed a light kiss on her forehead, brushing strands of amber hair from her face.

"You're in good hands" he whispered, taking in her peaceful countenance as if it were a balm for his weary soul.

"I will be back soon."

* * *

Finding the other exit didn't prove as hard as Guy had feared. After circling the chamber twice, he noticed a line of light streaming from underneath a green, hand-woven curtain covering one of the walls. It concealed a door – an unlocked one at that, as Guy found out upon turning the wooden handle.

He pushed the door open and with a last glance at the dark chamber he stepped outside into the open air.

The light dazzled his eyes, but after a second or two he got used to the sudden change: It was close to sunrise and the sky was turning a magnificent shade of red; Sherwood Forest seemed cold and ominous at this hour of the morning, grey mists surrounding its borders.

Without much thought, Guy started to sneak past and between the houses of Locksley. Some of them were untouched by last night's fire, but not many: most of the village has been destroyed by the merciless flames. As he neared the Manor, he could see thin lines of smoke, still rising from the charred ruins of several huts and houses. It took all of his strength not to look at the sorry remnants of his former home.

With a few more strides he reached his destination.

The stables haven't been damaged too badly – just a few scratches easy to mend - and so no one was appointed to guard it. Guy slipped inside, moving without any noise – a force of habit, he thought with a shrug.

There was about a dozen stalls, all of them occupied by horses of different colors and kinds, from milky white to raven black: from beautiful Arabians to the fearless Andalusians.

It would've been hard to pick from such a wide choice, but Guy knew exactly what he was looking for.

With a purposeful stride – but still careful not to wake the resting beasts – he walked over to the fifth stall on his right, noticing the absence of his saddle where it usually hung. Without opening the gate, he gracefully jumped over it like he'd done a thousand times in the past.

A magnificent, silver- grey steed was looking at him with his big, incredibly intelligent eyes.

It was his stallion; his favorite. He tamed it himself, though a part of the animal always remained wild and unpredictable. Much like Guy himself. "_A man in black on his black horse_" Gisborne snorted inwardly at the stereotype.

The horse whinnied impatiently upon seeing its master, nudging his arm with its nose. Its eyes reminded those of a slightly angered human with their reproachful look.

"Oh, so _you're_ the injured party here, Solomon?" Guy chuckled. "Come now, we have a long ride ahead of us..."

He instantly fell silent when he heard someone approaching; a few voices talking excitedly about yesterday's fire.

He couldn't be seen.

"Quickly now" he whispered, mounting his steed and not bothering to find a saddle. "Show me how much you've missed freedom".

Solomon didn't need any further convincing.

With a mighty whinny he stood on his hind legs and kicked the stall gate open.

He rushed like hurricane out of the stables - passing a couple of stupefied guards - and disappeared in a cloud of dust on the western road before any of them could see who the rider was.

"The western crossing" whispered Guy into his steed's ear.

He couldn't hold back the laugh of pure excitement and joy as they raced into the ripening sunrise.

* * *

_**A/N:** **Usual disclaimers apply. Thanks to all readers & reviewers for the great support! **__  
_


	23. Chapter 23: What we become

The western road stretched out into the horizon like a ribbon of dust and stones. Tall oaks and beech trees guarded both of its sides, their fresh greenery a pleasant sight to the eye.

No one knew the roads and paths of Nottingham better than he. Let Robin Hood have his Sherwood, let him rule it – but Guy was the one who carried the knowledge of all secret passes, detours and traps set around the shire.

He spurred Solomon into a soft trot, pulling his reins to a halt when they arrived at the Western Crossing. Anyone who'd ever seen it could brand the name as ironic, if nothing else:

There was only one main road turned north-west and a thin, barely perceptible path leading into the abandoned coal mine. Since the explosion over two years ago no one dared to venture a trip underground, though Guy was sure not all of the tunnels caved in – they were too solidly made to collapse at the first touch of fire.

As his eyes penetrated the wall of trees, he couldn't help but wonder how far underground the _Ddinas dan_ stretched.

For it was where he was headed. The City of White Rebellion.

With a gentle pull at his steed's reins, they were back on the road. The beast understood his every thought by now, as if they were of one mind, and the lightest touch was like a clear command, telling it of its master's will. Guy smiled, remembering how hard it had been to tame Solomon; how many bruises he'd earned during breaking him in.

The sun had only begun its journey in the heavens, when they encountered a muddy groove and a wobbly wooden bridge thrown over it. The former master-at-arms recalled that in the rainy season a small river used to flow there: Birch Creek the people named it, for on the northern bank there grew a birch grove, white like snow against the darkness of Sherwood.

"Less than a mile now" murmured Guy as they rode across the bridge. The day before he had heard Brother Bard order that girl... he didn't remember her name, to wait at the white cross '_where the western roads meet_', in order to lead someone back to The City Under. His memory put forth an image from the past: a grassy mound, which the legends bypassed and even the eldest people had forgotten. A cross made out of a thin birch tree stood at its brow ever since he could remember.

His eyes shot back to the trees when a twig snapped somewhere in the forest. A few greying crows flew out of the murky thicket and into the sun-colored sky.

And all of a sudden doubts began to take over.

Was this really a good idea? Would they not rather imprison him than offer him help? What if the whole endeavor was indeed pointless? Maybe there was another way to solve the mystery; a way he didn't think about?

Before he could shut these thoughts off, Guy heard the small, whiny voice of his conscience at the back of his mind.

'_Ah, here we are at the doorstep of another adventure!_' it chimed happily. '_It feels so... fresh to be in the wilderness again, doesn't it?_'

"I don't remember inviting _you_" Guy murmured in return. Two times in three days he heard that irritating voice and it didn't bode well.

'_Constant companion, for good and for bad, remember?_' the voice chuckled. '_Though in your case the good times are in the minority, aren't they?_'

'_But never mind that_' it added, seeing that Guy was a breath away from a spiteful retort '_For once I think you might've made a good choice. I can't tell you how proud – oh yes, _proud_ – I have been when you decided to search for help. You can't always handle everything on your own, you know._'

Guy rolled his eyes, trying to remember how to shut his Conscience back in that dark room at the bottom of his soul.

'_Oh, and of course there's the girl..._' the voice trailed off, setting up a bait Guy couldn't help but catch.

"What about her?"

Conscience gave a theatrical sigh – and if consciences had faces, it would also be smiling smugly.

'See, _I said _girl_ and you concluded: _Meredith_. What does that tell you, eh?_'

"That I care. I have- I had a sister and it is only natural for me to–"

'_And surely you worry that way about _every_ girl?_' the voice mocked. '_Every single girl who gets in trouble because of–_'

A shadow moved in Sherwood's depth. Conscience fell silent as if someone suddenly stole its voice.

Guy pulled Solomon's reins to a halt, scanning the dark curtain of trees on his left: His heart beat quicker when he thought he could discern a white cross against the wall of dull greenery.

"I've come this far – I have to make it to the end" he said to himself. He wasn't afraid of the forest like others might've been in his place; not ever that. But doubts settled over his previously resolute decision, making it harder to pass Sherwood's doorstep and meet the unknown future.

He dismounted and with a steadying breath walked into the western part of the great forest, leading Solomon by his reins.

* * *

There was indeed a green mound, about a hundred paces from the wood's border. It rose above the moss and ferns like a solitary island, the white cross at its brow resembling a sail-deprived mast.

After tethering Solomon to the nearest tree, Guy walked to the foot of the low hillock, anxiety sharpening his senses. After walking twice around the rise and looking in vain for some evidence of somebody's presence, he had to accept the fact that no one was waiting there: He was alone.

Why then did he feel like he was being watched?

Guy ran a hand through his black mane. Before, he had no certainty about his idea; now he lacked the possibility to fulfill it.

"If you don't know where the entrance is, you're never going to find it."

Gisborne spun around just in time to see a lighter shadow jump off one of the lower branches. He recognized the voice, though it sounded harsher, more hostile than the last time he had heard it.

"Show yourself!" he demanded. The absence of a sword at his side came as a painful reminder that he was no longer in his own domain.

"Why so angry?"

Dellyn's voice sounded just a few feet away. He turned and saw her walking towards the mound, the hood of her long cloak covering her face with a veil of darkness. Despite the obstacle, Guy could still see her serious gaze and a grim expression.

"What did you come back for?" she asked, coming closer.

Guy crossed his arms over his chest, locking gazes with the newcomer.

"That is none of your business, but I require a meeting with Brother Bard, your leader."

Dellyn bestowed him with an appraising glance, as if trying to see whether he was telling the truth.

"Aye" she said after a moment. "He's been waiting for you."

With that she passed him, reaching the grass-covered mound. She moved a hand over the ferns at its base, before giving a quiet sound of approval and pulling out something that appeared to be a very small, very old key.

'_What's the point, if there isn't a door to open?_' thought Guy disdainfully.

But suddenly Dellyn's hand reached for a hidden lever, and the black-clad man watched with disbelief as a patch of the mound's slope moved, uncovering a small, maybe five feet tall entrance.

The girl took off her hood at last, looking at the door expectantly and not without a hint of pride.

"You can follow me or get lost in the underground labyrinth – your choice."

"My horse...?" he asked, eyes still locked to the unexpected opening.

"...Will soon be taken care of" Assured Dellyn, unlocking the door with the small key and disappearing inside the mound.

Guy had no other choice but to follow.

"Is this the only entrance to The City?" he asked again when the door closed behind him with a creak and the world was swallowed by an oppressive darkness.

A muffled laugh reached his ears.

"One of the many. Now, we will have to walk quickly and without the torches, so better watch your head."

Guy of Gisborne gave a displeased grumble at her tone, but complied, however reluctantly.

They walked into a cold, damp corridor. At first their path was gradually descending and seemed to delve right into Sherwood's soil. But after a few minutes he felt a cold breath of air and his right hand (which he kept on the wall) was met with nothingness. Since that moment the corridor began to change directions and split into smaller ones in the most unlikely of places.

An icy drop of water fell from the low vault from time to time, irritating him even more than the never-ending labyrinth which seemed to stretch out for miles and miles into the cold darkness.

"What _is_ this place?" He murmured to himself.

Dellyn, who had gone a few steps ahead, called over her shoulder:

"The old iron mine, Lord Gisborne. The upper part of The City is built within its foundations."

It was then that Guy remembered the queer taste of the water droplets when he had first found himself in the underground. That's where the iron tinge had come from.

All of a sudden - and after what seemed like an eternity – they walked out into a dim-lit, stone-walled corridor. The air had the same fragrance as he remembered it from before, somehow making the place less hostile in his eyes.

"In there, Lord Gisborne."

Guy looked over at Dellyn who now stood farther away, by a narrow door on his left.

When he came closer, she knocked on the door three times and quickly scurried away without looking back... and not expecting a dry 'thank you' that followed her departure.

Gisborne's attention turned back to the door as a voice called from the inside, inviting 'whoever it was' to enter the room. Without further hesitation, he turned the door handle and stepped into the chamber.

* * *

"Goodness gracious, what took you so long?"

The chamber was drowned in darkness, the only source of light being an old torch on one of the stone walls. Just outside of the circle of light there sat a monk, wearing grey-blue robes and a wide smile on his face. "I've been waiting for you since yesterday, and so did Dellyn."

"How did you know I would come?" asked Gisborne with dismay, closing the door behind him. "Or was it Hood that you were expecting?"

The monk laughed, standing up and walking over to an aging wooden chest that stood in the farthest corner of the room.

"Straight to the point, just like his father" He sighed. "Good, for we don't have much time."

"Time?" Guy blinked, unable to follow his host's train of thought. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"You mean: Why are _we_ in such a hurry" Brother Bard corrected, unlocking the wooden chest. "The Council is about to start in less than ten minutes."

"What council?" the former master-at-arms found himself at a loss. "And what do _I_ have to do with it anyway?"

The monk stopped his search and took a glance at Guy, who still stood, dumbstruck, by the door.

"Why, you're the guest of honor of course!"

And before any words of protest could escape Lord Gisborne, he produced a long, cross-shaped object, wrapped in what appeared to be the finest kind of velvet. Guy observed as he slowly removed the material: A golden flash dazzled his eyes for a second and when he looked again, he couldn't believe what he saw.

"_Damarin_" he whispered with awe, unconsciously coming closer to the treasure presented to him.

"Your father's sword" added Brother Bard with a queer smile. "_Damarin_, the Golden Wonder."

The sword was indeed a magnificent work of art: Its blade was made of tempered steel, wreathed with silver and unbreakable; the hilt set with delicate drops of gold, each surrounded by five even smaller precious stones. It was a double-edged sword, and so long that when its tip rested on the floor, the hilt's end was level with a grown man's heart.

Guy touched the beautiful weapon with trembling fingers. He hadn't seen it since the early days of his childhood: He had to admit that rather than losing its splendor, it only gained more of it over the long years.

"How came you by this?" he asked in a strangled whisper.

Brother Bard smiled sadly.

"It was given to me by your father... a few days before his death. He was a good friend to me."

The blade reflected the dim light of the torches, brightening the chamber with its rich glow.

"He asked me to keep it safe until you are worthy enough to wield it..." the monk held out the sword to Guy.

"It is yours now."

A look of disbelief and amazement passed over Gisborne's features. Taking the weapon offered to him, he felt as though a part of his heritage has been returned to him. A part of himself.

But the thought that struck him most of all, was that this felt... right. Perfectly in place. The treasure seemed to appear in his life like an evidence of the changes that took place in his soul. He suddenly understood his father's want to serve all that is good and just, for the same desire appeared in his own heart; a splinter of light tearing through the darkness of his heart.

"What am I to do?" he asked, gazing at his reflection in the perfectly forged metal. "What am I to do to take his place?"

Brother Bard's expression grew serious; his eyes were quickly regaining their usual brightness.

"Take what you've been given; prove that you are your father's son. No, not to me..." he reached for a long, grey cloak thrown over the backrest of his chair.

"...But to those who doubt in the existence of true redemption." With that, he offered the cloak to Guy.

"You cannot be recognized until the right moment" He explained.

Guy reluctantly let go of the sword, knowing that taking it to the council would arouse suspicion. He wrapped it carefully in velvet before putting it back in the wooden chest and taking the cape from Brother Bard.

"Might I know what this _Council _is?" he asked, placing the big hood over his head. In the dim light he could be easily mistaken for one of the brothers of the order.

"Tis a gathering. And a special one at that. You see..." Brother Bard locked the chest and made for the door, motioning for Guy to follow. "...When there is a war approaching, the Whisperers call a meeting of two hundred of the Order's representatives from all around England and Wales. We debate over the ways of defending those under our care from danger, and how we can directly help in the battles. But today..."

They were out in the cold corridor again, and the monk closed the door behind them. They began walking in the same direction that Dellyn has previously disappeared in.

"...Today war is only _one_ of the things we need to discuss. Many voices arose, demanding a real leader for our Order. Some have gotten to know about the search for Esmé, the former Sheriff's wife, and her connection with Prince John. There are also those – turn left here..." They walked into the labyrinth of smaller corridors again. Guy tried to memorize all of the turns and doors they had to pass, listening to what his companion was saying at the same time, which quickly proved mighty difficult to combine.

"...There are also those who see no need for defending Nottingham whatsoever, and prefer to let it be taken by Prince John as his seat of power–"

"That's ridiculous!" Guy cut in. "All hell would break loose if that man is given a right to rule."

"...And fortunately not many of us are blind to see that" the monk stopped at the end of an especially murky corridor and turned to the black-clad man with a stern look in his eye.

"Now, for you to understand more of the Order's doings, you'll have to listen carefully, and not speak until I tell you to do so. There will be two hundred men on this council, most of whom wish you death and 'fair' judgment in hell. So I advise you to keep that hood over your head and stay silent at all times. No one would ask me who you are, but still I am risking everything in bringing you here. If you speak but one word, you might as well say goodbye to the sunlit world."

Guy's usual stubbornness suddenly resurfaced at the command in the monk's voice.

"And what about the matter I came here for?" he asked, following Brother Bard into a wide vestibule: A great, tall door stood at its end, and Guy saw many people clad in grey robes entering the chamber beyond it.

"It is a matter of great importance, and–"

"I'm afraid you shall have to wait." His companion bowed his head to a group of bearded men that passed them. "Remember to stay silent no matter what."

"Will you not listen to what I have to say?" Guy hissed from underneath the big hood. A few similarly dressed figures passed them, risking a few curious glances at their leader's mysterious guest.

"All in due time, Roger's son" Brother Bard gave him a reassuring smile as they entered a brightly-lit, marble chamber.

"All in due time."

* * *

_**A/N:** **So, another two-part chapter... Usual disclaimers apply. I'm into fantasy, so powerful swords, legacies, councils etc. are practically wreathed into my blood by now. Sorry if I bored you to death, but some parts of the story simply have to be written :) And Guy's Conscience pushed itself into this chapter, practically without my will...  
**_


	24. Chapter 24: Willing to change

Dellyn took off her apron and put it back on the shelf above the stone sink. With a quick glance in the direction of the main kitchen, she slipped past the barrels of wine and out of the stuffy, steam-filled chamber. A thin, freckled and blonde-haired girl was waiting for her on the other side of the small door. Despite being her most trusted friend, Olivia almost never approved of Dellyn's ventures. They were as different as two human souls could be: One an adventure-loving tomboy, the other – a sensible sister and confidante.

The blonde-haired girl took out a leather bag and shoved it into her friend's arms before she could voice her usual question.

"You're pushing your luck" she said when Dellyn took out a silvery-grey cloak, just like the ones The Watchers wore. "One day you'll get caught, you'll see."

"Nonsense" came a reply. Dellyn took the piece of clothing from Olivia and started pulling it over her curly-haired head, talking excitedly as she did so.

"I know The City as well as anyone: I'd be surprised if anyone even noticed my absence. Besides, Olivia, think of The Council. _The Council_! Have you ever imagined what matters –what secrets are spoken there?"

"I haven't and you shouldn't either" said the blond-haired girl, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"Oh come on! Can't you think beyond the borders of our kitchen? Don't you understand what a wonderful opportunity this creates for us to see what the Order– some help?"

Olivia sighed, disentangling her friend from the silky material and pulling it over her head.

"You're incorrigible."

Dellyn grinned.

"Maybe, but also well-informed."

Two of them exchanged glances.

"Look out for Elesby, will you?"

Elesby was the cook and unofficial Queen of the Lower Underground, unanimously named the tyrant sovereign of the Order's kitchens. All her 'subjects' feared her, for she had the eyes of a hawk and the quick-temper of a wasp. The aging cook knew of all that happened in her steamy, vegetable-filled kingdom: Here the walls didn't just '_have ears'_. They had _Elesby's ears_.

"All right... but you better return before my shift ends..." Olivia grumbled, before turning towards the side-door. "And don't do anything foolish" she added as an afterthought.

As she stepped back inside, a chuckle and a rustle of robes reached her ears.

'_Incorrigible'._ She thought, shaking her head. '_Positively incorrigible.'_

* * *

It was relatively easy to get to her destination. For someone who lived her whole life in the underground, that is. Dellyn didn't even need do count the corridors as she passed them, turning from time to time and keeping perfectly silent all the while.

The Marble Hall lay in the western side of The City, one fifth of a mile under Sherwood's soil. She remembered it to be the most magnificent chamber in the whole of _Ddinas_, made specifically for the purpose of showing the Order's power and beauty. Dellyn saw it herself more times than she could remember – though she's never in her whole life passed its threshold.

With a small rustle of the long robes she turned into a side corridor, hiding in the dark until a troop of guards passed her. She then returned to her previous path and followed it right into the wide (and now completely empty) vestibule. The tall door on its end was locked and barred: Eight and four Stormbringers guarded it from unnecessary intruders. _The council has already started._ She cursed herself for not hurrying more with her chores and plunged back into the deep dark of the side aisle.

Stepping as carefully as she could as not to provoke the echo, Dellyn reached the other side of the chamber. Holding her breath, she moved her hand over the roughly carved stones of the wall. Upon hearing a soft 'clang', she pushed the hidden door and took a last glance at the guards before walking inside. The stone door closed behind her with another 'clang'.

Darkness didn't oppress her long, for as soon as she reached the winding staircase, a dozen of torches came to life on both sides of the narrow room. Dellyn couldn't help a satisfied smile that spread across her face as she walked up the tattered stairs.

_She_ had discovered that place. _She_ and _only _she was its keeper. The thought filled her with immense pride.

How long had it taken to find a way of spying– no, of _gaining information_ about the Underground? And how much effort did she have to put into planning her escapades, every single time? Fourteen years ago when the stone door opened before her for the first time, she had branded the place as the passage to wondrous adventures.

She was no more a child at the time. Oh, but the secret matters of the Order still appealed to her as they did back then: The knowledge that she had access to the greatest depths of wisdom thrilled her beyond words.

_Fifty-two, fifty-three..._

Ten steps before reaching the top, one was able to hear the voices from inside The Marble Chamber. Five more steps and they became clearer, so that most of the words could be easily discerned.

Dellyn's heart skipped a beat when she passed the last step and walked into the small, round-shaped room. No torches to give light, no decorations adorning the walls and no furniture to rest on – apart from an old stool that stood on the other side of the chamber.

A thin streak of light fell from a hole in that precise wall, about four feet above the floor. It was the room's only source of light, and it was there that Dellyn headed with a steadying sigh.

It didn't matter how many times she's done it. It didn't matter that by now she knew every tradition, every routine speech of the council. Her heart still fluttered with anticipation, as she neared the wall separating her from the center and mind of the Underground.

* * *

Looking out of a hole the size of her palm, this is what Dellyn saw:

She was looking down at a chamber as large as the inside of a cathedral, but shaped like a perfect circle cut in half. There were seven rows carved around the stone wall, all facing the center. A marble colonnade stood behind the seventh row, supporting the weight of a white dome, fashioned out of the same material. Each column bore a torch: their light reflected from the polished stone, bathing the chamber in a warm, white brightness.

Three sectors of stone benches – the main one in the middle and two smaller ones at its sides – were occupied by nearly two hundred men of different postures, all wearing sapphire, silver or green cloaks with wide hoods that now hung loosely from their shoulders.

"We do not have the time!"

"Nottingham isn't our biggest concern!"

"Where do we supply those who fight?!"

It seemed that they've been arguing for some time now, and Dellyn pricked her ears to catch the sense of the heated discussion.

"I say: better to let Prince John take the castle and have done with it!"

More than half of the council objected to that, standing up and calling out in outrage. The chairman had a difficult time silencing them before the crowd finally calmed down. Then a tall, pale man stood from the Whisperers' bench which rose above all others, bowing to the assembled company. He wore emerald-green robes lined with silver and when he raised his hand, the rustle of voices began to still into silence.

The girl watched from above, biting her lip nervously.

_Silas_ - a serpent in the body of a man: His talk was venom, covered with a sickening honey of deceit. _Of course_ they'd let him talk.

"My friends! Please don't get carried away by your emotions. I am sure we all want what's best for those who are in our care..." the man spoke slowly, making sure every word was audible in the great chamber. "...We all know what they have suffered, do we not?"

'_What is he up to?_' Dellyn shifted her gaze from Silas to Brother Bard, who sat quietly a few seats to the speaker's right. She thought she could see a trace of anxiety on his countenance, but the distance might've been playing a trick on her eyes.

"People of Nottingham... are very good-natured. Kind-hearted they are" the serpent continued. "But try as we might, we cannot overlook the fact that their beliefs... their superstitions are deeply rooted in their souls and cannot be easily stifled."

There was a general murmur of agreement.

"Those beliefs might even – from time to time – cloud over their sense of what is good and wrong... But tell me my lords: isn't it a human thing to make mistakes and learn from them afterwards?"

The agreeing voices multiplied. A few of the gathered said 'Yes' aloud – the same people who moments ago were shouting insults against the previous speakers. Dellyn focused her gaze on the green-clad man, half praying, half laying promises not to let her mind be swayed by his smooth talk.

"Indeed, that is the source of our wisdom: knowing our weaknesses and strengths." Silas spoke as though he was trying to explain a terribly difficult matter, himself appearing immensely wise and learned.

"That very knowledge allows us to distinguish good from wrong – but some of the people in our care haven't been blessed with such wisdom. It is a rare gift, truly, and one that needs to be shared for the wellbeing of others. Those who do not possess it should be able to receive the right and proper beliefs from those whose wisdom surpasses theirs. Is it not so, my lords? My friends?"

The cries of 'Yes indeed!' and 'Well said!' rose from the seats all over the chamber. Some of the gathered started clapping and nodding in agreement. Out of the two hundred maybe thirty remained impassive to the serpent's speech. Dellyn could feel the anxiety gripping her throat; making it hard to swallow.

"'Yes', 'yes' I hear, but look at what is happening!" Silas pointed eastwards, his voice rising over the general noise. "Uneducated, foul men have overrun the minds of the populace and turned them against the bright light of wisdom and knowledge! The people wish for freedom – but they cannot see that with giving in to their captors, they summon their doom, and not the peace they so desire!"

The number of those who disagreed thinned visibly, as most of the gathered were now openly agreeing to the serpent's words.

"Their captors" Silas's tone turned colder. "They are the real source of our trouble. They despise and defy all authority – the authority that The Almighty Himself has instated. My lords and friends: Is rebelling against a steward not akin to rebelling against the king? Do those _men_ not defy our Lord in heaven by defying his loyal servants?" Silas pointed to the dome above their heads. All eyes turned to him.

"Do you know of whom I speak?" he called, his eyes flashing with cold fire.

Dellyn's heart stopped for a split second when she heard the roar of the crowd:

"_Robin Hood! The outlaw Locksley!_"

The noise increased with every passing moment, the gathering suddenly turning against Sherwood's hero, a legend seemingly untouched by the shadow of doubt. Dellyn watched how their confidence in the Woodland Knight gave way to a great anger, roused by the poisonous speech of Silas, and wholly unjustified. What kind of a devil could blind nearly two hundred wise men with just a few words? The girl dug her nails into the cold stone, wishing with all of her mind for someone to counter that deceitful _snake_.

When she saw Brother Bard rise from his seat, a sigh of relief escaped her lips. If anyone could get to the crowd at such a time, it was him.

"Brothers!" he called, raising both of his hands to still the commotion. "Brothers, silence!"

As the northern wind, which comes and goes whenever it chooses, such was the gathering's fierceness in anger. Seeing their leader in the heights of the seventh row, clad in sapphire robes, and hearing his powerful voice, the crowd's cries dropped to whispers before stopping altogether.

Brother Bard's gaze roamed around the chamber, as though trying to look into the councilors' hearts, to understand their thoughts. When he spoke, it was with authority which the preceding speaker lacked:

"My brothers, what cometh before the fall? What did the Tempter root in the heart of man on that feral day in the garden of Eden?"

'Pride' came the hushed replies.

"Aye, pride! Pride!" Dellyn saw how much it cost him to keep his voice even and countenance peaceful. "Tis the reason for our fall. Wise we may be, powerful we may be, but we are not God to judge our neighbors for their sins! And neither are we authorized to scold them for things that we have not yet remedied in ourselves!"

He turned his gaze to Silas, silvery eyes stern as steel.

"When I listened to you, Silas of Greenwell, I saw the thick veil of deceit you weaved around the truth, the darkness and smoke you covered it with. My brothers, I wish now to lift that blindfold from your eyes. I know Robin of Sherwood..."

"...I am aware of his doings and they are _not _of evil kind. Quite the contrary. He and his men feed and clothe the poor; they give them means to pay for their taxes; they help the outcasts and defend the helpless. I saw it with my own eyes and so would many of you, if only you didn't avert your gaze from the truth. Tell me, brothers, is he not doing the very same thing as our Order? For ages we have fought the injustice, braved the flames of unrighteousness, and now we encounter a great ally in our path. Are we not to take this chance? He wishes to defend Nottingham and so do we! Our cause is their cause so how come can they stand against us?"

Murmurs rose from the lowest to the highest rows, as Silas's and Bard's words clashed in the councilors' minds, one contradicting the other. Who was right and who was wrong? Where did truth lay? They whispered with their closest neighbors in confusion, trying to decide whose speech made more sense in their eyes.

The murmurs and whispers spread across the chamber as if someone poured water on a steaming frying pan. Suddenly Silas stood once more: His eyes were boring into Bard who resumed his seat among The Whisperers; his composure seeming to slip from his slimy grasp. Dellyn held her breath.

"And what would you have us do, Lord Bard?" Silas would never let the word 'Mawr' roll of his forked tongue. "Fight with the royal forces? Defend a pile of rubble to the last man? Is that what you deem wise, Bard the Wanderer?"

'A pile of rubble!', 'Not enough forces!', 'Not our business!' came the heated cries, though less people joined the shouting after Brother Bard's speech. Dellyn's hands balled into fists and once more she wished to be able to go down there and give those men a piece of her mind. _'Not our business' indeed! _

"If it means that Nottingham is kept out of Prince John's grasp, then yes, I see wisdom in the endeavor."

"War!" Silas snorted. "All your thoughts are bent on war and conquest! Yet still you fail to see that the root of this land's evil is not out there, in the Prince's court. It is right here, before our eyes, festering in the heart of Sherwood!"

One third of the gathered men shouted out their assent.

"If deceitful speech is what you want, go and talk with the snakes who are your kin. They might yet listen and do as you say, but those who search for the truth will not" answered Brother Bard calmly, meeting his opponent's furious gaze.

"Are your eyes blind to what is happening?" he asked, turning to the council. "The new sheriff has received orders from the Prince to send all able-bodied men up north, to join with the armies in York. Executions are multiplying; unfathomable taxes are raised even higher; all of the money is given away to support the civil war and breaking England in half. Only yesterday at Locksley Festivities someone set the village on fire–"

"Nonsense!" Cried Silas vehemently, all composure lost. "Some peasant must've done it by accident! There is no proof it was an intended act!"

"There _is _proof!"

Dellyn's eyes shot to a dark figure that stood in the shadow of the colonnade. She didn't notice its presence before, and neither did the council. Half of them were now standing to see whom the voice belonged to. A few of them began to treble as the realization hit them. _But no, it _couldn't _be..._

"I was there; I saw that the fire was no accident!" the hooded man stepped out of the shadow and stood behind Bard's chair. The monk looked as though he encountered a very nasty, but entirely expected problem.

"How long have you served Prince John?" sounded the deep voice from under the silvery hood. "When did he buy your allegiance?"

Silas's face turned red and pale in turns, fear and anger painted all over his countenance.

"Who are you?!" he cried. "Show yourself!"

With a resonant laugh and a tug at the silver tassel, the man pulled off his hood.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Dellyn's eyes widened against the looking-hole.

_Oh no_...

* * *

All breaths ceased; all hearts stopped, filling with dread. This rough-angled face, hawk-like eyes and a thin smirk were known all over England, feared and hated by many. The news of his death would've reached the borders of Scotland by now, rousing relief from many a troubled heart. And now, this same man stood before them, alive and well, seemingly unchanged. The only one who didn't seem shocked by this sudden appearance was Brother Bard, but he in turn seemed troubled, with a hint of melancholy in his grey eyes. But no one looked at the monk right now: All eyes were fixed on the tall figure that stood beside his chair.

'_He really knows how to make an entrance' _Dellyn couldn't help the thought.

"What– what is this?" Silas stumbled back as the newcomer gave him a dark look. "What the devil...?"

"To precede all questions, I was not dead" said the tall man, turning to the council. "I didn't die and come back to life. Neither am I a ghost or a demon of any kind. I am Guy of Gisborne, once the devil that haunted the people of Nottingham. I wish now to humbly subject myself to your fair judgment... but I also call upon you to judge the traitor that stands in the midst of your brethren." With that, he bowed to the gathering, his raven-black mane falling over his eyes.

'_Is this even the same man?_' Dellyn thought, utterly confused by his odd behavior. '_Or am I just delirious? Yes, this seems more likely..._'

But before anyone could think of a rational explanation, Gisborne was caught by two council guards who had already recovered from their shock. They twisted his arms back and pushed the man onto his knees: Even if he wanted to free himself, they had already pointed their swords to his exposed neck, three more guards following their lead.

"Don't do him any harm!" cried Bard, standing to his full height.

It worked as a wake up-call for the rest of the council. Soon the chamber filled with the roaring echoes of 'traitor', 'murderer' and 'devil' – the fiercest of the councilors even started to move from their seats towards the Whisperer's bench.

"Brothers!" the leader called, but no one listened anymore. Silas slipped out of the growing crowd and hid in the shadow of the colonnade. Dellyn wanted to shout, to bring their attention back to the matter of Nottingham and war, but she couldn't betray the place of her hiding for the world. So she just sat there, digging her nails into the stone of the wall separating her from the commotion.

Her eyes went wide with astonishment when she saw that in the midst of all this ruckus, Gisborne didn't try to break free from the guards' grasp; he didn't move from his place, saying something that Dellyn couldn't hear because of the deafening noise. Brother Bard tried to get to him, but the Whisperers surrounded him, flooding him with their questions.

"My lords!"

A voice called from the tall door of the chamber. The crowd's attention divided between it and the Whisperer's row.

"My lords, I bring a matter of great importance!" a young messenger stood, gazing up at the gathering and searching for the Order's leader.

"Speak at once!" called Brother Bard with a trace of relief.

"There is a man who says that he was sent by Yrun Mawr to–"

"I'll speak for myself, lad, thank you" a merry, though a bit tired voice sounded from below. Soon a figure joined it, clad in green and brown, a quiver on his back and a bow in his hand. He was accompanied by a woman in her late thirties, with dark hair and eyes that resembled almonds both in color and shape. She walked by his side in a ladylike, confident manner, though her spirits were a little dimmed by the atmosphere of the new surroundings.

"Well, I see that we've come in the right moment!" the newcomer glanced up at Bard, before leading his charge to the center of the chamber.

"Honorable brothers of _Ddinas dan_; knights of the Underground!" he bowed nonchalantly to the gathering.

"I present to you Lady Esmé of Lincoln, former wife, and widow after Sheriff Vaisey."

* * *

_**A/N:** **I don't own RH BBC or any of its characters. Dellyn, Olivia, Elesby, Bard, Esme, Silas and Meredith are my own creations. I just want to say that the idea of Elesby came to me while I read about TolkienGirl's 'cook' in 'Where there was none'. Check it out, it's a really great story :)**_


	25. Chapter 25: On the crossroads

Voices rolled like thunder overhead. It seemed as though there were thousands of them, each and every one demanding payment for his deeds. Cruel deeds. Blood-covered deeds. It took all of his newfound will not to wrench himself free from his captors. Before he knew it, he was on his knees. Something told him that he had enough strength to fight against the guards – but he didn't. Another part of him, something buried deep beneath the layers of lies and deceit, told him that he deserved this. It was the price for giving in to the evil, many years ago. And now the council required payment. What did he have to give?

Guy heard someone calling 'Execute him now' – others shouted in agreement. Hateful words filled the air with shadow: Gisborne felt it coming closer with each accusation and each insult, no longer hiding from his eyes.

'_So many have died from your hand_' he tried to shut out the guilt, but it kept sinking deeper into his blackened heart instead. '_Tens? Hundreds? Did you look into their eyes as life escaped them? Did you see their crushed hopes fading, their souls crying out for justice? Were you blind to that pain, deaf to the cries of terror?_'

_No_. Guy shut his eyes. Images appeared out of nothingness; images that haunted him since his return from the Holy Land... no, long before that. At the deepest, blackest pit of his soul he kept them; voices of the people he killed, men, women and children... they called out to him in the lifeless hours of the night, clawing at the remains of sanity he still possessed. Yes, he could remember. At times, he could see and hear them better than those living. Nowhere to run. Did they think he hadn't tried? Oh, countless times he had laid promises not to touch his sword again - and each time he broke them. Even more cruelty followed; even more lives were taken.

A thousand deaths wouldn't pay that price. Judgment he tried to inflict upon himself failed; Death turned away its countenance, refusing to take him to the bottomless darkness below. Wouldn't it have been just to let him suffer for an eternity?

A glimmer of light tore through the gloom surrounding him. A memory.

A heart of gold: Fragile like glass, passionate, forgiving. '_You are not evil_' she had said, the first day he saw her in bright daylight. '_You are lost_.'

And suddenly the veil lifted, and he saw everything with perfect clarity: He was given redemption. _He_ could never redeem himself by his own strength and will, for it had been shattered. Not by any force of this world, not by any hand that knew sin. The price has already been paid. Now he needed to prove that his redemption has become the truth.

And what could he give in return?

Nothing. He had nothing. Except...

... His life.

"Do as you will" he said, his voice drowning in the crowd's roars. "But there is someone else you should be pursuing–"

One of the guards dug the sharp blade of his sword into the exposed flesh of his throat. Not to wound, but deep enough to draw blood. Guy didn't pay attention to the crimson rivulet staining his pale skin; his eyes were drawn to the figure disappearing in the shadows of the marble colonnade. If only Bard could see... but the monk was now occupied with the other Whisperers, and the rest of the gathering who were apparently fixed on killing one of them on the spot. That snake-like person would surely escape and go back to Prince John to feed him with news of the secret council. Then everything will be ruined, whatever plans they had would crumble, and many years would have to pass before someone would rise against the Prince again. Guy didn't try to reason with the inner voice telling him that he cared. He did, and he'd dwell on in later. If he'd live that long.

Swallowing his pride, he turned to the guard whose blade was still pressed against his throat.

"Listen to me, there's another person you should be going after–"

"Quiet!" the man barked in response. He could feel the other guards' swords pointed to his chest and back. "You have no right to speak now."

"Then when will I have that right?" he snarled. Many things changed in the past few days. His temper wasn't one of them. "Or would I have to wait till all of your secrets are revealed to Prince John?"

There was a momentary hesitation, which lasted shorter than a flicker of a candle. All five blades drew nearer, coming dangerously close.

"One more word" said the first guard slowly, lowering his sword to Guy's heart "And you'll never be able to speak again. You won't need it where we'll send you."

"Clever" murmured Gisborne, catching a flash of a green cloak between the marble columns a few yards away. As good as gone.

The guard raised his sword and for a moment Guy believed that he too saw the flash of green and would at last pursue the escaping councilor. But instead he heard the man speak, a grave note to his words:

"You've been warned" with that, the sword came down...

"_...Lady Esmé of Lincoln, former wife, and widow after Sheriff Vaisey!_"

... And missed his arm by one tenth of an inch. The clang of a blade against stone resonated in the suddenly quiet chamber.

Neither the guards nor Guy noticed the arrival of the queer pair. The latter couldn't see well from where he was – all the while kept on his knees - but still he heard every word that fell between the Whisperers' row and the marble doorstep.

Brother Bard's voice sounded next.

"Welcome to Ddinas Dan, my lady!" he began walking down the steep steps, and people obediently cleared out of his way. He cut through the thick crowd in less than a minute.

"We are glad to have you here" Guy heard the voice coming from the lower rows.

His curiosity allowed him to ignore the lethal blades that were still pointed in his direction. Was she really there? Bard called her Nottingham's only hope. Did that mean there was a chance to stand against Prince John? It's been long since he felt so curious about a person he'd never seen before.

Forgetting the guards, he tried to stand up, but was shoved back down at once. Two blades crossed at his chest. 'Not a move' the first guard mouthed with a stern look. It took nearly all of Gisborne's self-control to bite his tongue and stay quiet.

"I am sure our guest is weary after the long journey" the monk's voice sounded genuinely concerned. The retort came with an audible grin.

"Why yes, thank you for asking."

_Locksley_. Hearing that casual, self-assured voice Guy felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. But then he remembered the last words he spoke to the man, only a day ago: '_May we never cross paths again. For if we do, it will not be as brothers, but mortal enemies_.' The weight crushed down with a doubled force.

"But before the noble council will commence its deliberations, could I ask for a moment of respite for me and my friend here?"

The former master at arms could imagine Brother Bard nodding with a trace of reluctance. The sooner the matters are resolved, the better.

"I will see to it."

He must've given some sort of a signal, for in a moment two of the guards at Guy's side withdrew their swords and began to plough through the crowd, possibly to meet their leader. The sound of quiet steps was multiplied by the omnipresent echo as Hood and Lady Esmé exited the marble chamber. There was a light breath of wind ('_why is there wind in the underground?_'), bringing the smell of ancient stone and cold steel. The tall doors closed behind them with a clang, and the air of confinement settled around them once more.

A long moment passed before someone dared to speak again. With the corner of his eye, Guy saw a man clad in silvery grey robes, just like his own. He'd remembered the color to be worn only by the Stormbringers. He felt a pang of longing despite the rather strained situation; the thought of actually _belonging_ somewhere, being a part of some great endeavor, following in his father's steps – it all seemed so blissfully surreal, almost impossible to reach. But for him, that '_almost_' made the world of a difference.

It wasn't until someone shouted 'Judgment' that his attention was drawn back to the marble chamber. Several voices arose, demanding immediate judgment for him, Guy of Gisborne. _Have they already shaken out of seeing the unexpected guests?_

The guards pulled him back up without warning, pushing him to the edge of the Whisperers' row. To the onlookers it might not have seemed a hostile act, but Guy could very well feel the three blades still digging into the back of his ribs. One step backwards and no healer would be able to nurse him back to health. One step forward and he'll be pushed over the edge of the highest row by the agitated councilors. He didn't have to look around to feel the multitude of vengeful glares, piercing him with invisible daggers. Until that moment Guy had always claimed that he was above all fear. Now, hearing the heavy footstep of his approaching doom, something snapped, making him wonder whether or not he'll get out of this chamber alive.

"Brothers! Brothers! _Please_, some order!" cried someone's feeble voice. "It is no fair judgment to give the accused no way of defense–" but he was drowned out by the hateful roars of the crowd.

Guy managed to catch a few louder accusations among the general havoc:

"...Murdered the innocent villagers..."

"...Killed the miners' families..."

"...Sided with the Sheriff..."

"...Prince John's pawn..."

So that is how it was going to play out: No lofty words, no usual proceedings - just bringing all of his deeds before two hundred men from all over the Kingdom, so that they could decide whether he should live or die. It wasn't hard to guess their verdict. All he had to do was wait for it to be said out loud.

He deliberately avoided looking at Brother Bard, half-expecting the monk to have turned against him as well. Guy clenched his teeth and listened to the long list of his crimes, forcing himself to remember each one as it was named.

"_Tawelwch!_"

A clear voice rose above the noise. Eyes began to search for the source of it, resting at last on the slight figure in grey-blue robes, standing in the middle of the chamber, near the first row.

"_Tawelwch, frodyr*!_"

He stood firmly, not even a little intimidated by the fact that he had to battle alone against one hundred and ninety-nine men, whose thirst for traitor blood reached its zenith. This time he didn't wait for the silence to fall before he spoke.

"If fair judgment is what you seek, then good is your aim!"

Guy's heart sank. So Bard was with _them_, after all. But before another thought passed his mind, his head snapped up at the monk's next words.

"Justice is truly the virtue of this house. I hear you are all in favor of granting death upon this man. O mighty gathering!" Bard raised his hands to the massive dome over their heads "In the name of truth, let me speak for him before passing a verdict!"

Gisborne would've expected any reaction from the crowd: An outburst of anger, shouts of disagreement... anything, but not _this_.

The people looked, astounded, between him and their leader, their previous cries suddenly choked back and forgotten. Not a single word fell from their lips, not one whisper could be heard in the marble hall. No one expected this, including Guy himself.

Brother Bard continued, sweeping his sharp gaze over the rows as if he wanted to memorize each face and each shocked expression.

"Here stands a man" he took a few slow steps towards the first row, pointing high above their heads at Guy "Who had taken countless lives and shed a river of blood. He murdered, assailed, set on fire, drowned, tortured and humiliated Nottingham beyond compare. Not sparing a second thought to the suffering, bleeding people; using terrible cruelty to gain more and more power. Our order was founded to fight the likes of him: Indeed, that is our cause..."

Guy held his breath. What in the world is he doing? He said he'll speak _for_ and not _against_ him!

He watched as the monk walked along the first row, looking briefly in the faces of those sitting in the lower rows.

"There was no man in this generation whose crimes would I deem worse than his. The devil had its paws on him for many years, throughout which hundreds of lives have been taken. And yet..."

He stopped abruptly, and only after a moment Guy realized he was looking straight as _him_.

"That night, when he turned his blade on himself, when Death came to claim him at last... he'd been saved, snatched from the abyss by something he cannot explain himself."

The guards' swords trembled against his back and withdrew, but he didn't pay attention. The very warmth of his blood seemed to dissipate, leaving him numb and breathless.

_How did... how did he know?_

"That night" Bard continued "He'd gone to the valley of the shadow and had been brought back, still on the edge of life and death. The man who had dealt cruel death to the innocent, that same man was _spared_ that night. He could've died. And he _would've_ died if Someone didn't want him to live."

The silence hung heavily between the marble walls, filling the air with a strained stillness. Looking back at that moment, Guy couldn't remember anything, but those words: Those words which resonated deep in his soul, shaking the foundations of his old world.

"My brothers" the monk's tone became quiet, focused. "He had been brought back for a reason. Redemption can be _given_, not achieved. We've heard about it, but now we see it in the flesh."

What was this feeling? That little flame, emanating warmth and light when all other lights had dimmed? He couldn't believe that it has made its way back, after twenty years of the excruciating cold.

_Hope_.

_I ... I have... hope._

"He is bound by evil no longer. Our old leader's returning son... And the heir to the title of _Yrun Mawr_!"

* * *

"_He was already gone when I woke up... He might've gone to find the culprit... I said that if he wanted to, he could sleep in the attic... He wouldn't leave your side... Worried... Yes, he looked rather disturbed... Maybe he'll be back by sunset... "_

The sun fell from the sky and rose again since she'd heard those words being spoken. John Silverneedle made sure she was well taken care of when she woke up, not long before noon. Meg had been with her all along since then, either trying to make her laugh or scolding her for not taking better care of herself.

Meredith didn't remember much from the night of the fire: Mainly the terrible fear of the flames devouring her alive and a darker shadow in the night, coming to take someone's life. Her cousin informed her that Carrey dragged her into the old barn which caught fire soon afterwards, and that somehow she got out of there alive. To her utter amazement, John added that her savior was none other but Guy of Gisborne himself. This puzzled Meredith to no end.

She was now pondering the happenings of the last few days as she sat by the open window of John's study. He and Meg had gone out again to see if there were any villagers who received serious injuries during the fire, and if they could be of any help. Meredith volunteered to go with them, but John was adamant that she should stay out of sight for a while. '_Carrey might be dead, but his men are still around_' he'd said the on the first morning. '_What do you think those vultures would do if they found out what happened in that barn? Do you think they'd let you go unharmed?_'. To that she couldn't help but ask why then was Meg allowed to go with him. She had been seen in Locksley more than once and everyone knew they were cousins. Meredith received no answer, but was forced to stay in the house nonetheless.

The only consolation was that her fever had receded for good and she was regaining strength practically with each passing hour.

The sun rolled lazily past the single wisps of cloud, pouring all of its golden glory over the dried land below. Meredith squinted in the sunlight, following the few visible rays with her gaze. One of them fell on her outstretched hand and she smiled, feeling the delicate warmth caressing her palm.

It was hard to believe how much has changed in the past two weeks. Witnessing the journey from death to life, helping someone she deemed to be evil, learning of the former Sheriff's demise, discovering Carrey's secret, being there when death took him... and standing face to face with her greatest, most powerful fear.

_Fire_.

The sunrays suddenly seemed to burn her skin and she quickly withdrew her hands, backing away into the shadow of the house.

It wasn't the first time she'd been paralyzed by the presence of flames. It has happened before: The first was the day when her parents died and the other a few years ago, when Vaisey had invited half of Nottingham to watch an exceptionally cruel execution. Some woman, Sarah (Meredith had met her briefly in the past), was sentenced to death by burning at the stake for some trivial transgression. Meredith still remembered the Sheriff's words reading the verdict, Sarah's pale, frightened face and then flames – rising high into the sky, merciless and crimson like freshly spilled blood...

She leaned heavily on the windowsill. Two nights ago the nightmare returned, and she had come near to losing her senses because of that cursed fear. She knew she surely would've died there if... if _he_ didn't come back for her.

Her hear beat faster without her will each time she pictured him carrying her out of that barn, looking like a knight in shining armor... only that he _wasn't _one. Meredith couldn't decide whether the thought of herself, resting limply in his arms filled her with dread or... something else that she didn't want to ponder.

One more thing seemed out of normal: In her dreams, she heard a song – an incredibly beautiful one – sang in a language she didn't know. She found, to her confusion, that in her waking hours she unconsciously tried to mimic the tune, humming or whistling it while she helped John with sorting out the herbs. The song seemed to soothe her in a peculiar way, as though someone was pouring a warm, golden liquid into her heart, drowning out all anxiety. It irritated her as well as filled her with bewilderment. _But where in the world did that tune come from?_

Something moved in the forest, just where the trees met John Silverneedle's small garden. Meredith backed away quickly, but not before she saw a flash of bright green against coppery red between the trees. A smile quirked the corners of her mouth upwards and she stifled a chuckle. _Oh, the likes of him never change, do they?_

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked with just a tinge of amusement, leaning over the windowsill to check whether the house was being watched. "Get inside."

Robin Hood chuckled heartily before emerging out of a set of bushes just under her windowsill and sliding in through the window. Meredith couldn't help but notice how graceful he was about it, as though he'd done it a hundred times in the past (which, she supposed, he really did).

"Who could resist such an invitation?" he said with a playful wink. She rolled her eyes, closing the shutters to ensure some privacy. Robin Hood never visited without a reason and when he did, it usually meant that trouble is near. She walked to the other window and closed it as well, immersing the room in a greyish darkness. They could still see each other fairly well, but if someone decided to walk in unexpectedly, into the shadowy room, he'd have trouble with recognizing either of them.

After a moment of silence, the famous outlaw seated himself on a sturdy bench near the empty hearth.

"Not that I'm not glad to see you again" said Meredith slowly "But is there any particular reason why you've come to visit?"

If the lighting had been better, she might've missed his look of utter (and feigned) innocence.

"Why? Am I not entitled to check on an old friend o' mine?"

"Robin..."

"All right, all right, you saw right through me. Well..." he scooted so that she could sit next to him, but Meredith chose the bench on the other side of the hearth.

"...I've heard about the fire."

"You mean arson?" she asked curtly. He nodded with a bit of reluctance.

"I was also sorry to hear about the death of two villagers. If I were there, I wouldn't have let it happen."

Meredith bit back the urge to reproach him for breaking his promise that he'd come to the festivities. Instead she whispered:

"Pity."

"Pardon?"

"It's a pity that you weren't there to save the day" she said, forcing a smile that he probably didn't see in the dark. There was a short silence.

"I've been... detained" he finally answered. "The matter was important. It couldn't wait."

Meredith smoothed the wrinkles on her sky-blue dress. "I see" she muttered.

His gaze was turned in her general direction, sometimes straying to her face, as if trying to read something from it. He seemed... more serious than usually, which never bode well.

"Meredith..." the woman looked up instantly. He used her proper name only when discussing something of great importance. "Have you... Have you ever seen war?"

She felt something cold and unpleasant wrapping itself around her heart. _War?_

"I have not and I do not wish to" she answered carefully, observing him from the corner of her eye.

He nodded. She thought she heard him mutter '_That's what I thought_'. Her hearing hardly ever failed her. Something was off, she felt if from the moment her eyes fell on his weary countenance.

"Robin?" he raised his head to meet her gaze, a bit reluctantly. "Robin, what's going on?"

Instead of an immediate answer, she heard a long, troubled sigh, very not-Robin-like. When he spoke, his tone was quiet, as if the devil himself could be lured by louder speech.

"Three days ago, after we met by the Three Rocks, something's happened. Something that by all human logic couldn't have happened, and that – were I any less gifted with imagination – would be impossible for me to believe..."

And so Robin Hood told her the whole story of what happened that day: How he fought with Gisborne, how they were rendered unconscious and woke up in The City of White Rebellion and the shorter version of Vaisey's and Lady Esmé's story. He skipped several important pieces of information, such as Brother Bard's name and some parts of the story that – in his opinion – a woman couldn't understand.

Meredith listened with her mouth slightly open, and the feelings of amazement, shock, wonder and confusion constantly changing on her countenance. She asked him a few questions at the beginning of the story, and had gone terribly pale after Robin stated that he'd seen Guy, though some color returned to her face as the story progressed.

The outlaw prince had quite a careless way of passing on knowledge, but fortunately Meredith was an attentive listener. Robin ended his story on the moment of Lady Esmé's first presentation.

"...And then we walked out of the chamber, leaving them all to deal with this little nugget" he said at last, leaning back on his hands. Meredith stayed silent for a moment.

"So... let me get this straight: This Order in on our side in fighting Prince John and all the other evil on English soil..."

"That's right."

"...And its leader told you and Gisborne that you need to find Vaisey's former wife and bring her to Nottingham, so that we could have a kind of a safety warrant for when the Prince decides to attack..."

"Precisely."

"...He also told you two that they need to find another leader, another Yrun Mawr?"

Robin nodded, observing his companion intently: Now that the story ended, her usual look of controlled interest fell back into place and it was close to impossible to read her thoughts. Not that he'd ever been good at reading women's minds, he thought with bitter amusement.

"And that's all you can tell me?" she finally asked, staring into the empty hearth, deep in thought.

"That is all I know" he corrected, stretching his arms. "For all I'm aware of, they're still locked up in that chamber, debating over what to do..."

Meredith's eyes met his for a brief moment.

"You mean to tell me that _he_'s still there?"

Robin gave a shrug.

"If you mean Guy then yes, he should still be there."

A pause.

"Alive?"

The outlaw prince couldn't help but laugh at this, seeing her calm expression, highly contrasting with the audible worried tone in her voice.

"I suppose so. If they were to tear him to pieces, then they would've done so in the first hour of the council" he said casually, but seeing Meredith's serious expression, he added with a small smile "Besides, you will see for yourself if he's all in one piece. He'll be visiting Locksley soon."

Oh, she was a true champion when it came to hiding her feelings, but at that moment she let the mask of polite caring slip. For one brief moment he saw her eyes ignite with emerald fire.

"What? Why? And _how soon_?" she asked, choking out the anxiety mid-way through the sentence. Robin chewed on a knowing smile for a few seconds, as if he was trying to remember.

"In the evening, I suppose. As to 'why'... well, he's been told a bit more... a lot more than me, actually, about what's probably going to happen when - and if - the war breaks out. He'll come here straight from the council to pass on the orders and instructions of help to the villagers." Even as he said it, he realized how odd it sounded: He would've never used the words 'Gisborne' and 'help' in the same sentence before. Well, things were changing rapidly, and the sooner he accepted that, the better.

"Oh" was her simple reply. She was now staring past him, clearly only half-aware of his presence. Robin Hood thought it best to leave her with her thoughts; he had many things to ponder on too.

"So" he said, standing up and stretching like a lazy cat "I hope I've cleared the situation up for you a little bit. I need to go now and discuss the plan with the gang before night falls."

His movement must've shaken her out of her reverie, for she too stood up, smiling a real smile Robin has come to appreciate so much. It was so much like Marian's.

"You did, thank you" she simply said. Suddenly, and in a moment of silent understanding, they shared a brotherly embrace for the first time in their acquaintance. Neither of them knew whether they'll be seeing each other ever again; war was, after all, famed for separating friends and severing even the strongest of bonds. Now, in the dim-lit room, and having a perspective of war in her mind, Meredith was glad to have gained a friend like Robin Hood.

The moment passed quickly and Meredith went to open the shutters to let Robin out. When he was already one leg out of the window, she was reminded of something, and told him to wait while she scurried off to the nearby kitchen. She returned shortly, a leather pouch in one hand and a small skin filled with some sweet-smelling liquid.

"It's for your friend" she explained, passing him the skin. "Lilarrows and mint. It's not much, but it should dull the pain."

"And what's _that_?" Robin pointed to the leather pouch inquisitively. Meredith took his hand and placed the pouch in it, closing his fingers about it.

"_Very_ precious and _very_ hard-to-find herbs. Should be good for the usual injuries you receive during battle" she said, pressing the pouch into his hand to stress her point. The outlaw prince smiled his usual, mysterious smile and retorted:

"It is truly a great gift, my lady. I shall treasure it as a token of ardent appreciation!"

Meredith laughed heartily: All of a sudden the world seemed a little brighter and the prospect of war not as threatening as before.

"I'm sure you will."

They exchanged one last glance and off he went, running silently into the trees. And then suddenly, she remembered something.

"Robin!" she half-cried, half-whispered. He turned back with question in his eyes. "Since when are you calling Gisborne by his given name?"

A chuckle came from his direction.

"Since we are both fighting to free England, my dear Day!" he said happily and then all at once, he was gone.

Meredith stood by the window for a good few minutes, still looking at the place where the thicket swallowed the outlaw prince. But her thoughts were not running through the forest with him; they were now far away, following a different kind of a knight.

"He's coming" she said out loud, not yet able to discern whether she was happy or not at the prospect of seeing him again.

"_He's coming_ _to Locksley_."

* * *

**Disclaimer: Usual disclaimers apply.**

**_(* Tawelwch, frodyr - (Welsh) Silence, brothers)_**


	26. Chapter 26: Looking back

**A/N: Thank you all for reading. I'd really appreciate your thoughts and comments - they always help me with improving the story :) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Robin Hood, I sold the rights to BBC a long time ago...**

* * *

This morning the two guards standing outside of the sheriff's chambers did not have a mind or the courage to exchange the usual gossips. Since their mistress caught wind of Robin Hood's latest scheme, the whole castle had been roused from its idle life and a whole lot of – surely unneeded – ruckus commenced, as usually on such occasions. But there seemed to be something more to it this time.

If the second cook's sister's friend was to be believed, only yesterday a ghost-like man was seen in Locksley, riding off into the western road on the county's most prized stallion. As Carrey was the only one who had, after Lord Gisborne's death, attempted to saddle the beast, the stable boys' first assumption was that their new master had been summoned to the castle on some urgent matter. But the gossip wouldn't have reached the castle if not for the fact that Lord Carrey was found dead in the remnants of the old barn on that very same morning.

News of the fire and the mysterious death of yet another of Nottingham's master-at-arms spread quicker than smoke, which could be seen rising into the clear blue sky till midday. General confusion, caused by too many thought-up and entirely unbelievable stories was to last longer than the effects of any other calamity that had befallen Nottingham over the past decade. Another piece of news to fuel the fire of the people's curiosity had been discovered soon after the sun rose: The former Sheriff hasn't been murdered by outlaws, but by someone from inside the castle; of course the body was never found. The wave of whispered news rose to an incomprehensible level, and - as expected - everyone turned to Isabella for answers.

But Isabella had none to feed to the crowd. With each passing moment spent alone with what she called 'a great tumble of misunderstandings', the newly appointed sheriff only grew more and more restless. The two guards could hear her frantic steps on the other side of the door, as she paced her chambers to and fro, awaiting some divine revelation of how she was supposed to deal with all this trouble. Neither of the mail-clad men wished at this moment to be in her place; nothing, not even all of England's riches and titles could be worth the prospect of dealing with Prince John's wrath when she failed to win against the famed Robin Hood. For everyone knew that the hooded prince of Sherwood had victory in his blood and, as of late, also on his mind.

The pacing stopped. Both guards held their breath, awaiting the usual sound of pottery making contact with one of the battered walls. The privilege of the rich and the powerful was that they could break as many things as they desired – with no need to pay for or clean the mess up afterwards. But the sound never came.

The door suddenly swung open, almost hitting one of the guards in the face. They both stood (scrambled) to attention, murmuring the usual 'my lady' with hesitant voices. When the lady emerged one could never guess which mood she'd be in for the day. It could change quicker than weather on the sea, for most times.

Isabella didn't as much as grace them with a single glance as she passed them, but the steadily voiced command came soon enough:

"Send for Rodney and tell him to come straight to the main hall. _No_w_!_"

The words didn't reach their minds as quickly as their ears, and one of the guards unwisely raised the matter of Rodney's present place of dwelling, which was for the moment unknown to either party.

"I don't care if he's sitting in the pits of hell" The answer came from the other end of the corridor, though still perfectly audible. "Bring him to me before sunset or – upon my word – you'll be thrown into the kitchen fires before the day is out!"

The guards fled, not minding their pride in the least, and letting the picture of the ever-flaming fires quicken their steps until they ran as fast as the heavy armor allowed them.

If their long experience has taught them anything, it was that when direct orders came, the sheriff was most probably preparing yet another trap for Robin Hood. And had they seen the deathly shadow in Isabella's eyes, they might've guessed that this was no mere hunting game. It was a mad chase: Indeed, the final battle.

* * *

Guy of Gisborne has had a share of envy in his thirty-four years of life. He envied his father the ability to always stand in defense of justice; He envied young Locksley the fact that he was so loved by the crowd; He had even been envious of the power and wealth that Vaisey once possessed.

And now he envied all those men who were working in the golden, august fields instead of bringing ill news of war, like he was about to do. But most of all, and quite reasonably, he envied his steed's strength, renewed by a whole day of rest while he didn't get any occasion to enjoy the above mentioned.

He sat up in the saddle (a merciful present from Bard), struggling with all his might to stay awake. When had he last laid in an even relatively comfortable bed? He could not remember. First the forest, then John Silverneedle's floor, and then those three short hours when he stole away from the council to get a moment of rest. Hardly a proper night of sleep, he thought before yawning like a lazy lion.

To keep himself from falling asleep, he began reviewing the happenings of the past few days, trying to focus on the bigger picture as much as the important details:

Four days ago Meg arrived at the cottage to tell them of Vaisey's death. Four nights ago he'd had that queer dream of an azure lake, which he still failed to understand. Three mornings ago he'd gone after Meredith, saw her conversing with Locksley, fought with the man, and was – along with said man – tricked into taking part in a fairly risky endeavor (by a secret order of which existence he'd never heard before). Two days ago he woke up without the usual thoughts of vengeance on Locksley, and walked away from the chance to slice him to pieces, which was a surprising feat in itself. In that same day he had seen Carrey's hatred towards Meredith (or was it the Welsh in general?), confronted her and... Proved once more that his temper had more influence on him than his common sense.

For the first time in two days he let his thoughts wander on that territory.

That single memory contrasted with the unpleasant atmosphere of the oncoming war like a torch lit in the depths of darkness. He couldn't explain his actions, for he neither understood them nor knew where they had come from. Guy didn't know what to think.

He leaned back in the saddle, looking into the pale blue sky and remembering their heated conversation from two days ago.

She had said something about freedom back then... '_I will not have to account for my behavior. Not to anyone and definitely not to you_'. He had responded with stating that freedom is a tricky thing. How true those words were, now that he thought about it. He had never before felt bound to another person, and yet for the past few days he began to feel that an invisible bond was being forged between him and Meredith. It manifested itself when he lost his temper two days ago, when he had kissed her for the first time. Guy could still recall the way that woman could bend to emotion, the way she could lose her sensible self to pure passion. Even if only for mere seconds, he managed to awaken the fire that she feared with such vehemence. And maybe that was why she despised him now. It would only be logical for her to hate him, he reasoned. He might've thought that she had some feeling for him, some warmer thought, but surely all that dissipated after the last display of his hot temper. Guy didn't know why, but it bothered him greatly that he'd lost her respect so early in their acquaintance - or even before they met. His infamous deeds might've preceded him long before their paths crossed.

Still, even though she (must've) hated him, her compassionate heart made her pity him. Yes, it must've been pity that compelled her to help him on that dark night nearly two weeks ago. He, the repenting sinner that he was, didn't deserve anything other than sympathy from her. And that's enough – he tried to convince himself – as long as he can stay close and guard her wellbeing.

Solomon whinnied softly, throwing back his ashen mane and tearing Guy from his thoughts.

"You're lucky to have no such problems, old boy" he murmured to his steed. "You have no idea how lucky you are..."

With a heavy sigh and a decision not to dwell on what his thoughts seemed to naturally float to, he resumed reviewing his memory from the past four days.

Two days ago, or rather two nights, the fire was started at Locksley, and he'd almost (he hated that word) caught the arsonist soon afterwards. Guy's aquiline features darkened when he recalled the impossible similarity between the arsonist's eyes and those of his mother. There had to be some family connection between them, maybe some distant relation. He wasn't wrong; he simply _could not_ be wrong.

But before he could ponder on in any longer, his thoughts moved on to the events following the fire on that unfortunate night. He returned to Locksley to search for Meredith – a mere brotherly care, he told himself – and upon seeing her oppressed by a devil, Carrey that is, he fought him, won and then let him go, which resulted in Meredith receiving a wound – a small one, but still a wound – and developing that strange fever after they'd managed to escape from the flaming barn. He took her to Silverneedle's house, where she was tended to and – he hoped – nursed back to health. He knew not of her state, and three times over the past twenty-four hours he had nearly asked Brother Bard to send someone who'd go to Locksley and find out about her. It appeared as though the monk was also pondering the same possibility, but eventually there had been no time to call for a messenger.

And lastly, there was the Council.

When they passed Birch Creek, Guy gave a light pull on Solomon's reins and they entered the western half of the forest, disappearing between the trees. He knew well how unwise it was to ride in the light of day – especially when one was thought to be dead – but the news of the oncoming danger couldn't wait till sunset.

Yes, the war was close at hand.

Unconsciously, he reached to the sheathed sword strapped to the saddle and couldn't help a genuine smile. _His_. After all these years spent on exile, it was _his_ at last. Damarin, the famed sword that once belonged to his father.

The smile froze on his lips.

His father. The last Yrun Mawr.

'_Our leader's returning son...'_ the words resounded painfully clear in his head._ 'And the heir to the title... the heir...'_

He bent in his saddle to avoid hitting the thicket's lower branches. _He_, _Guy of Gisborne _was thought to be the next leader of the underground order? It was a ridiculous thought.

For once the Council's sentiments seemed just the same.

_The silence after Brother Bard's statement didn't last for long. Multiplied voices of objection echoed between the perfectly cold, marble walls of the chamber. He could feel the piercing stares of the outraged councilors as he was led out of the oppressing hall and out of their sight. As he passed them, Bard said something to the leader of the guards, who merely bowed his head and pushed Guy forward, the tip of his sword still dangerously close to the prisoner's heart. _

_He was led through endless corridors to what he gathered to be the south-western part of the Hidden City. He remained silent for the whole journey until they reached their destination; it was a square space with numberless, sturdily made doors set into three of its walls, dimly lit and filled with the harsh scent of iron._

'_In there' the tallest guard opened the seventh door to his left and motioned for him to go in. Having no choice in the matter and supposing that his death might be delayed if he did as he was told, he obeyed, entering without hesitation. As soon as he was on the other side of the door, it was closed with a loud 'bang' which mingled with the fading echo of the guards' steps long after they departed._

_It was a cell. The whole city lay underground, so there were no windows to provide any comfort. The only source of light proved to be a thin, bright line between the door and the stone floor. Such treatment was of no surprise to him, though he would've given his own life (an unreliable bargain to be sure) just so that he could see the outcome of the council's deliberations. Instead he sat in the dark, pondering the last words he had heard before leaving the Marble Hall. It seemed reckless of Bard to present such a queer lie to the gathering, especially when their minds were set on Guy's execution. For surely, it must've been just that; a fanciful lie. His father was a great man, the greatest Guy had ever known, and he would never hide anything from his family... would he? _

_He didn't know how long he sat in that cell, but he vaguely remembered waking from a troubled sleep at the sound of a door opening. _

'_The council is dissolved. We've reached the verdict.'_

_Brother Bard stood in the entrance_

'_Unanimously?' asked Guy. His voice was hoarse from the long hours of silence. _

'_By majority' replied Bard, taking a few steps inside the cell. Guy noticed he held a sword of a familiar shape. Am I to be executed with my father's sword? He wondered grimly._

'_After a long debate, the gathering decided to take a vote on whether you should live or die.'_

_A short pause. Guy unconsciously held his breath._

'_Out of one hundred and seventy-two councilors, eighty-four were for, and eighty-eight against your death' Bard gave a weak smile. 'You are to become one of us on one condition: Prove yourself in the battle for Nottingham. Obey whatever orders are given to you and if we come out of this war alive, you'll be made a Stormbringer, like your father before you.'_

_Gisborne sat motionless for a long moment before his voice decided to return._

'_But how...' he rasped 'How did they... how did you...?'_

'_Whoever knows a way to the hearts of men and understands their fears has a great power of persuasion' came a quiet response. 'The Council adjourned the discussion about your future leadership for the time being. There is still a lot of confusion in the Order and all needs to be set right before the next Mawr can be chosen-'_

'_I thought it was a lie' interrupted Guy, rising to his full height. 'I thought that-'_

'_-That it was too impossible a thing to be believed in?' finished the monk. 'And why would I want to deceive either you or my brethren? I had no reason to lie – for it is a foul thing indeed – so I told the truth.'_

_The former master-at-arms once more found himself at a loss for words. He merely shook his head and gazed at Bard disbelievingly._

'_If you are ever to become Yrun Mawr, remember that you won't be chosen for the deeds you've performed, but for the hand of destiny and your father's will. It is an honor, but also a great burden to be responsible for so many lives. A burden that I shall no longer have to bear...'_

_Guy caught his wandering gaze for a split second, but before he could open his mouth, Bard spoke again._

'_But there are things of greater importance to be done now. You were assigned the task of passing our plans on to the villagers in Locksley and providing them with means of escape to a safe place. We've decided Hucknall is the best place for women and children to find shelter during the battle. All men are to be gathered at the southern borders of Sherwood, where young Locksley should explain to them the rest of the plan. After you've performed your task' he handed the sword to Guy and pulled out his cloak from a bag Guy failed to notice before. 'You are to meet Robin and help him put together a plan of the siege. We'll send our men to you before the sun sets. I should arrive soon afterwards.'_

_Everything seemed to spin around him as Gisborne followed Brother Bard out of the cell, through some more corridors and into the stables, where he found Solomon, groomed, saddled and ready for the return journey. _

'_There is food in those bags. Use as much rest as you can, for we're soon to be deprived of it' the monk instructed, as Guy mounted his steed. 'You cannot be seen before you're ready to reveal your secret. Beware the open roads. Farewell!'_

_With that, the stable boys opened a hidden pathway which led directly into the forest, about half a mile north from the White Cross. _

As he rode through Sherwood, he couldn't help but wonder at the radical turn his life has taken. Everything around him seemed to be changing – including Guy himself. For who would've thought it possible that someday Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne will become allies?

* * *

**!Next update: July 7th! (Guy and Meredith meeting at last :)**


	27. Chapter 27: Come what may

Since Robin's visit, the afternoon began to rush by at a mad speed. The sky clouded over and it began pouring down rain, but Meredith still sat by the open window, waiting.

John Silverneedle eventually came back for dinner, announcing that Meg wouldn't return until nightfall and left once more as soon as he'd finished eating. She was left alone with only her thoughts for company, which didn't bother her much. Indeed, the day would've proven fairly pleasant, she thought, scanning the wall of trees beyond the garden, if not for a certain person who obstinately refused to show up. She couldn't decide whether she awaited or dreaded the prospect of meeting with him. Things have been getting more and more complicated of late and now that the war was coming...

Meredith shuddered at the thought. An herbalist she have been, a physician's apprentice she might've been, but the very sight of suffering and death made her want to run as far as possible from the world. The prospect of witnessing them daily and having to deal with so many broken lives felt too cruel, almost too unreal to become true.

'_But it will_' she said to herself, at last moving from her place by the window. '_It will become true whether you want it or not._'

Tired of waiting idly for the news to come, she decided to occupy herself with some minor work around the house. Finding the herbs she had brought on her last visit to John's house, she began sorting them out, tying them in colorful, fragrant bunches and hanging them by the ceiling among the others.

"He might not come" she said quietly, separating peppermint leaves from the dried nettle leaves. "Surely, he has forgotten us, simple folk, who sit here with no news whatsoever..."

"Have I?"

Meredith spun around with a gasp. There he stood, tall and proud as always, despite his soaked clothes and ruffled, damp hair which clung to his forehead and fell over his eyes. Those eyes didn't leave her own, as though he didn't want to miss a single move she made. And was it only her imagination or were they dark with thunder?

When he came closer, she noticed that he wore a silvery grey cloak she'd never seen before. He also carried a great sword, unlike the one she'd seen him use in the past. Then again, his former weapon was buried in the remains of the old barn, along with Carrey's body...

A few more steps and he bent, picking up the bunch of peppermint that fell from her hands. He handed it to her without a word, still not breaking the eye contact. Meredith swallowed the herb-fragrant silence, forcing herself to look away from those eyes.

"How did you get in?" she said, forcing steadiness into her voice.

Not hurrying to provide an answer, he took off his cloak and sat on the bench opposite from her.

"The back door" he answered simply. Meredith observed rivulets of water forming in the folds of his cloak and falling from the edges as little droplets when he laid it next to him.

"I've found it yesterday."

"Oh."

The whole afternoon she waited for him, yet still he appeared in the one moment when she wasn't looking. And how come didn't she know this house had a back door?

"You know why I'm here" he stated, seeing her solemn expression. She merely nodded. There was a moment of strained silence.

"Did Locksley pay you a visit?"

She looked up at him stealthily, wondering, searching. He gave a small, amused smile before answering her unasked question:

"We're no longer enemies. You don't have to cover for him anymore."

Meredith supposed the 'anymore' was meant to sting, but it didn't. Robin was a good friend and she wasn't going to pretend to be ashamed of that. Again, she just nodded her acknowledgement.

"How much did he tell you?"

Meredith shrugged.

"Little above nothing" she murmured, returning to sorting out the herbs. She needed something to occupy her mind with, something other than death. For death was associated with fire. And fire in turn reminded her of the man who was standing before her. She'd feared the former since she could remember, and the latter – with his dark demeanor and predatory strength – had an unpredictable temper, which she found both fascinating and dangerous. Besides, wasn't it only right to fear Guy of Gisborne? Wasn't it... natural?

"Judging from your expression he must've told you about the danger that will soon be upon us..."

He looked away for the first time, holding back a weary sigh.

"...That _is_ already upon us."

Meredith found that her hands were trembling, but she desperately tried to continue her work despite the fact. He won't see her fear. She won't let him.

"What are we to do then, Sir Guy?"

Yes, what _were_ they supposed to do? Stand up and fight? Villagers who had never in their lives held a weapon, let alone fought with it, peasants, tailors, shoemakers... Hardly the material for Nottingham's army. They'd die before they saw the banners of Prince John's forces. The war would crush them and their families. One of England's richest shires will soon become a mass tomb, a reminder that no one stands against the cruel law.

Meredith snorted inwardly. _The law_. Established to uphold truth and justice for all men. For all are equals before God. Why then weren't they treated as such?

Not so long ago she believed that war was the matter of kings and princes, something so far-off and indistinct that it would never come to this part of England. She believed that, somehow, the presence of the only hero of her time, the noble Knight of Sherwood would repel all evil things; that his presence alone would be able to protect the people from undeserved wrath.

Apparently, she was wrong. Nottingham was going to meet its doom, and soon.

"What are we to do?" she repeated through gritted teeth. She wasn't afraid of bursting into tears, but nonetheless it would've been a disgrace if _he_ saw how weak she really was. What would he have to think of her then?

Meredith straightened up proudly as she heard him answer.

"It's been decided that men of Locksley, Nettlestone and Clun are to gather at the southern borders of Sherwood, where Ho– where Robin and his men will meet them and give further instructions. The women and children..." she heard him rise from the bench and come a few steps towards her "...are to be sent to Hucknall, less than seven miles north from here, where they'll be safe."

_Women and children_. Meredith held a bunch of thyme, picking at the small leaves absently. That also meant her and Meg. They won't have to witness any of the terrors of war. They'll be away, waiting for all things to end, for Prince John's men to come and decide their fate. _It's been decided_. Why then did she feel like there was something... _more _she could do?

She felt a sudden surge of courage and turned back to face Guy, her expression unreadable.

"What would you have _me_ do?"

* * *

Long before he entered the house of John Silverneedle, he began to doubt. The question of making a right decision haunted his thoughts as he rode through the streams of rain, all the while unsure of whom he should entrust the news with. The hospitable physician came to mind, along with the village's most respected elders, but eventually it was Meredith he decided to turn to. She was sensible, strong and could easily convey the instructions to the whole of Locksley. She was an obvious choice.

When he slipped inside unnoticed, he had had a fair moment to judge whether the woman he saw has indeed been well taken care of. Guy was expecting to see her in a terrible state, terrified by the prospect of the oncoming war, crying maybe, – but the woman who sat by the window didn't look any worse than when he'd left her yesterday. What he noticed, with a tinge of surprise, was in fact the immense peace which she appeared to be shrouded in. Or was it just a façade? If it was, he couldn't see through it. And that's what bothered him the most.

When he spoke up without greeting, the mask seemed to shift just a fraction. But not enough.

When he mentioned Robin Hood, a shadow of an unknown nature passed her countenance, but her face remained otherwise unchanged. Guy couldn't bring himself to voice the bitter thoughts, the _suspicions_, about what might her acquaintance with the outlaw be. Instead, he added the unneeded 'anymore' at the end of some sentence. Maybe she caught it... Maybe she didn't.

And then, after she turned away, his gaze fell on her hands. They were trembling.

As long as she appeared strong and unyielding, he could play the part of a messenger with little difficulty.

Not anymore.

Not when he noticed how pale she's gone, pale like a marble statue, and standing still only by the order of her artist's chisel. She wasn't made of stone, but of the highland mist – just as mysterious... and just as fragile.

He remembered his earlier promise: To let her be free from him, to shield her from the shadow that he once walked in. The few feet that separated them seemed now to become miles.

And still, he stood up and took a few steps in her direction, just so that she wouldn't seem so alone. For that is how she looked now: Alone, forgotten, crushed by the knowledge of what was to come. He'd gladly lift that weight off her shoulders, should she ever let him come close enough. For now, all he could do was not only to seem, but to _be_ strong for the both of them, and not add more to the burden she already carried.

But then the question came. _'What would you have me do?_'

She was facing him now, in her eyes a child's desperate attempt to appear more grown up than it really is. It suddenly struck him that she was asking to let her stay in Nottingham, in the heart of battle. Oh, he knew this silent plea, he had seen it more than once in Isabella's eyes during their exile in France. Never has he yielded to those looks, never has he bent his will to the stubborn wishes of his sister; and now he _will not_ yield to the one whose wellbeing has been constantly on his mind. He wouldn't let her within a hundred miles from danger, if it only lay in his power.

Guy locked his stern gaze with her silently fearful one.

"I would have you remain in safety, along with the others."

Meredith seemed to shrink at those words. He could see the strain with which she kept her expression relatively firm.

"I've studied the art of healing" she said with a quiet obstinacy. "As... As a physician's apprentice I should be allowed–"

"-We'll have Silverneedle and several monks from the Order. It'll be enough." He cut in with unintended asperity. The woman let silence fill the space between them before she spoke again, locking her arms over her chest defiantly.

"Am I to do nothing, then?"

Guy shook his head, stepping closer.

"Do not think we're moving you out of the way. You'll be needed where we'll send you."

Her eyes sparked with protest for a split second, yet she remained still. He made his voice sound as calm and reasonable as possible.

"The villagers' wives and children are not the most resilient of travelers. They need a guide, someone who'd keep their spirits up throughout the journey to Hucknall as well as later on. They need someone whom they know, respect and trust entirely. They need _you_, Meredith, and no other."

They were so close now that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body and her soft breath tickling his neck. All it would've taken now was one step forward: One step and they'd blend into one. He couldn't remember ever wanting anything so much as this: For their souls, their whole beings to intertwine and never separate again.

Despite having in his mind the oath never to take that step, Guy felt as though all was becoming so blurry when they stood so close, truth mingling with imaginings, reality with dreams; especially dreams of _her_.

"Sir Guy?" he heard her whisper and instinctively leaned closer.

"Yes?"

"Can't I just–"

"No." He said gently, but with a tone of finality.

A cold breath of wind from the open window made them both shiver. Finally waking from his half-daze, Guy stepped back reluctantly. He reached for his cloak, wanting to offer it to her out of habit, but then realizing it wouldn't have provided much warmth in its present state. Meredith noticed his move, rousing from her reverie. Before the mask of indifference could fall back into place, she gave his soaked clothing a look of slight pity. He caught the glance and a small smile found its way to his lips. Taking his cloak, he said with a light bow in his hostess' direction:

"My business here is done. I'll be on my way."

"I think... I think you should stay and... Dry off" she countered, not entirely certain of her words, and why the word 'business' bothered her so much.

Without waiting for a reply, she walked out of the chamber to bring firewood. When she came back after a minute, she seemed more composed, more like the Meredith he knew.

He thought he could hear her mutter '_where are my_ _manners_' under her breath as she sparked the heath back to life.

As Guy sat close to the fire, warmth began to slowly seep back into his sore limbs. It felt blissfully pleasant, like diving into a stream warmed with hot, summer sun.

They talked very little and of unimportant things, mainly to fill the silence. She asked about his sword at some point, so he told her how his father obtained it; what its name meant. All the while Meredith listened with honest interest. Guy knew well that whenever he spoke of his heirloom, pride and joy found its way into his voice. He couldn't help it, nor change it, for that matter. He didn't inherit many things after his parents, after all.

"...And after the fire it mysteriously disappeared, or so I thought. After my return from France, I've tried to recover it, though I didn't know where to search. Only yesterday I was presented with it by Brother Bard, who claims to be an old friend of–"

But then he saw Meredith's face going strangely pale and fell silent, realizing no one has told her _that_ part of the story yet.

"What did you say?" she asked, barely above a breath. "What was that name?"

Guy clenched his teeth, furious at himself. Wonderful. A great way for her to find out. _Fool._

"Bard is here, in Nottingham" Meredith looked into the flames before her. Her countenance showed a mixture of shock and amazement. "Isn't he?" she turned her unfocused gaze to him.

Guy nodded slowly.

"In Ddinas Dan, yes."

"How is he?"

"The last time I saw him he seemed quite well. He..."

And suddenly the former master-at-arms remembered that Bard wanted to pass on some message to Meredith a little while ago. What he _didn't_ remember, was the exact content of that message. Nothing, but a blank page.

"...He has many things to oversee at the moment" He finished with resignation. "The responsibility for the whole endeavor rests chiefly on his shoulders."

Meredith nodded absently, her thoughts wandering somewhere else. All of a sudden, she asked:

"Do you think I could–"

"-You'll see him when the war's over." Cut in Guy, following her train of thought.

"I'm sure you'll sit at his right hand at the feast celebrating our victory" He added a bit more gently after a moment's silence.

Meredith raised an eyebrow; her emerald eyes were full of disbelief.

"You think we can win this battle?"

Driven by something undefined, Guy of Gisborne moved from his place by the hearth and walked over to the other side, where his hostess sat. Unsure of his intentions, she made a motion as if to move away, but he caught her hand, firmly enough not to let her go, but gently enough as not to scare her.

"Not only the battle, but the whole war" he said, raising her pale hand to his lips, and gazing into her eyes intently.

Meredith shivered, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold wind. His azure eyes were too intense, too... passionate... to look into them emotionlessly. She felt her breath catch in her throat when he leaned closer; the heat of his body so close to her own was oppressing just as it was intoxicating.

She came to her senses a second before their lips met.

"You were right, Sir Guy" she whispered, searching frantically for the steadiness of her voice, which she seemed to have lost a while ago, along with her reason. "You were right; I shouldn't detain you any longer."

Guy didn't look like a man who would mind being detained; nevertheless he released her hand and reluctantly moved away. He noticed – and not without a curious mix of surprise and satisfaction – that the woman's countenance wasn't deathly pale anymore: It blossomed with a tell-tale rosy color, at which sight he couldn't help but smile inwardly. _Maybe she didn't hate him that much after all._

"Yes, I should return to Sherwood" he said, looking out of the window and noting that it stopped raining. The ride should prove easier this time. Guy didn't enjoy rainy weather half as much as his steed, which seemed compelled to break into a happy gallop whenever it could feel the first raindrops falling from the sky. Curious beast.

He turned back to Meredith, this time keeping a bit more distance between them.

"Tomorrow morning our men will be sent to the three villages to help you gather everyone, and to direct you on the path you should take to Hucknall" he said, making his voice sound matter-of-factly. "You'll be safe as long as you keep to the road. The northern parts of Sherwood aren't our territory, so to wander into the forest there would be very unwise. We trust that you will manage in passing the news around, but remember: forbid the people to talk outside of the village. We can't have the sheriff catch wind of our plans." He finished, taking his now almost dry cloak and putting it about his shoulders.

Meredith stood straight and with a sudden determination, said:

"I'll do what I can to help the Order. I will not disappoint you."

'I know' he wanted to say, but instead he merely bowed his head in a formal manner.

"If we ever meet again, it will be soon."

Those words sounded terribly grim in the silence that fell between them, but they both caught the truth that lay in them. This might've been their last encounter on this side of the living world. Meredith shuddered at the thought, feeling as though a deep, sinister shadow has crept into the dimly lit chamber.

"Sir Guy" the tone of her voice was colder than she wished it to be "Please tell Brother Bard that... please tell him that..." she couldn't seem to find the right words to voice her request.

"I will." said Guy, giving her a thin smile and turning to the back door to leave. He uncovered the hidden exit and was just stepping outside, when suddenly he heard his name, his proper name fall from her lips for the first time. He turned back to face her, and saw that though she was stubbornly looking at the floor, her cheeks were the light shade of roses.

"Take care" she said quietly. "Take care wherever you go."

Desperately keeping himself from walking back to her and sweeping her into his arms, he couldn't think of a proper answer. Those five words stuck in his mind and he could think of no better response than to bow once more and give her a reassuring smile.

When on the other side of the door, he found that he'd rather stay here, in Locksley, and ensure Meredith's (_his Meredith's_) safety, rather than go to war and leave her without sufficient means to defend herself.

But a few additional guards will be sent from the Order in the morning, he'll at least make sure of that.

"You'll be safe" he murmured, trying in vain to convince himself. "Heavens above, _you_ _have to be safe_."

* * *

As the night draws near and Nottingham's gates close, the life in the many inns and taverns begins to wake from its daily slumber. Men from every corner of the city and the nearby villages flock to the dimly lit streets, tempted by the sweet taste of ale and money, just to disperse in the morning with a bitter aftertaste of misfortune and purses lighter by a half.

There was one, 'Under a wild bear', famed for its unusual clients: cutthroats, robbers, hirelings, traitors and all of their kind. An honest man rarely wandered there, and if by some terrible mistake he did, he'd usually be carried out than leave on his own two legs.

And that is where Archer chose to search for information.

Throughout the long years spent mainly on travels and performances, the young jester gained experience of getting to know dozens of taverns of all possible kinds. That queer sort of wisdom proved helpful at times like these, when he needed to gain knowledge of something otherwise unobtainable.

A satisfied smile glimmered in his hazel brown eyes, as he listened to the man who sat opposite from him. A cripple, about twice his age and a known swindler, but – really quite irrationally - true to his word when presented with a satisfying amount of gold.

"Ye see, there's ownly one way t' get into the castle" the old man said in a low voice, glowering at Archer with his one healthy eye. "'Bout a year ago the ol' sheriff – damn his wits – an' that rabid dog o' his ordered a couple o' us to dig a tunnel leadin' from the castle dungeons to the woods 'bout a mile from the walls. The entrance - ye listen good an' proper – is under a grave with a falln' cross..."

* * *

**Thanks a lot for reading! If you could take a moment to review, please do, even if only to answer me this: What was your favorite scene from the Robin Hood series? ;)  
D: As I recall, Robin Hood (sadly) isn't mine.**


	28. Chapter 28: Beginning of the end

When Guy arrived at the south-western border of Sherwood, he didn't have to wait long before Hood's men appeared. Without a word of complaint (or any other kind, for that matter) they led him through the deep shadows of the forest, constantly turning and changing directions. He led Solomon by his reins, feeling the animal's resistance as he forced it to trot after him further and further into the dark-green depth.

He wasn't surprised by the absence of the outlaws' leader, but felt that the four men sent in his stead were a bit too much. Had Hood not told them that he, Guy, was on _their_ side now? That he could not and _would not_ do them harm? Or maybe it was his reputation, resurfacing again to bite at his conscience while he repented for his past deeds? He couldn't wait until all of this was over. Fortunately, everything would be resolved after the war was ended. Nottingham awaited either doom or victory, and its fate was now irrevocably intertwined with his own. It gave him a sliver of hope, but also made the wait unbearable. What would become of him? And what would become of–

„Welcome to our humble dwelling!" Cried Robin, emerging from an entrance to the outlaw's hidden camp.

Guy didn't notice when they had entered a flat-floored hollow, walked along the steep rocks rising on their left and arrived at its other end, where they suddenly stopped. He quickly gathered his wits, standing straight as though to make himself seem taller. Robin's manners were as unnerving as those of a spoiled child, and even now that they were allies and working on the same side, Guy couldn't help but be irritated by him.

"Locksley has been instructed about the plan. Nettlestone and Clun should receive the message later this evening."

Robin walked down the slight, leaf-covered slope to meet him, the ever-present grin plastered over his features.

"Straight to business, eh? Relax Gisborne; we're not in _that_ much of a hurry."

Guy bit his tongue before he could give a venomous reply.

"We enter the city tomorrow." He stated instead, wishing for the outlaw to catch the hint.

"Ah, we've not yet worked_ that_ out. We'll be debating it shortly."

Gisborne raised his eyebrows.

"What _have_ you worked out, then?"

Robin shrugged, grinning widely.

_Does that mean 'nothing'? Oh, perfect._

"But we've still a few useful hours till dawn" the outlaw pointed out. "That's still plenty of time, don't you think?"

But before Guy could shoot him an annoyed retort, Robin gestured for the straw-haired man (_Much, was it?_), to take Solomon's reins and lead him to the makeshift stable somewhere nearby. He failed, as the beast jerked its head away, glaring at Much distrustfully. He tried again, but only to stumble away when the animal tried to bite his hand.

"Don't bother, he won't let you touch him" said Guy, stroking Solomon's head. "Where is the stable?"

Much hesitated for a moment before directing the newcomer to the dimly-lit cave around the nearest bend. Guy followed him, leading his steed gently and talking to it quietly to calm it down.

After he'd made sure Solomon had enough hay and water for the night, he returned to the camp, while the thoughts of his own (_well-deserved!_) rest were yawning loudly at the back of his head.

**oOoOoOo**

"...No! For the hundredth time: _no_ to this foolish plan!"

"What do you propose we do then? Ask nicely for them to open the gates?!"

"There are ways to enter the castle undetected–"

"Five hours, Tuck! We've got _five hours_ till dawn!"

"See, it's not enough time! Why not put off the endeavor for a day or–"

"Much!"

The heated discussion went on for hours. Each of the outlaws had a different perspective of a plan and each one was determined to voice his (or her) opinion, which they, of course, deemed better than the ideas of others. They had all forgotten about food and drink, even pushing back their desire for rest in order to put together a decent plan. But since the sun had set they haven't been able to agree on a single thing, quarreling, convincing each other - and pacing the camp to and fro in the short intervals between the two. The time was of great essence, and they could all feel the hours rushing by at a terrifying speed. No one was in the mood for jest; not even Hood.

"Look: If we can send one party to the front gate and then sneak through the city and reach castle, then we can think of how to get inside..."

"Making it up as we go along, you mean?" said Tuck, attempting in vain to hide his irritation.

"We'll think on it when we're already _on_ the castle grounds" came the curt retort.

"And how do you propose we achieve _that_?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" bellowed Robin, losing the last of his patience. The outlaws went silent at this sudden but not entirely unexpected outburst of frustration. Their hearts were heavy as well, and the quickly approaching dawn didn't help in clearing the air of anxiety that lay over the camp like a deep shadow. The only fortunate thing (which they failed to notice) was that it stopped raining for good.

Guy was the only one who didn't put even one word into the debate, listening silently while he sharpened his sword. Damarin hardly ever needed sharpening, but he wanted to have something to focus on while the argument stretched on through the nighttime hours. Another advantage to keeping to his own self was that he had the time to procure a fairly good plan, and think it over thrice before finally joining the conversation. The immediate silence after Robin's exclamation seemed a perfect moment.

"Do any of you know how many men guard the outer and inner walls?" He asked without looking up from his work.

No answer came, just as he expected.

"Thirty-two and twenty-eight respectively" he continued calmly "And about twenty more in the quarters, if I'm not mistaken. But that's on usual days, not in the times of war. I expect the new sheriff should have at least doubled the forces within the city, now that she suspects the enemies to be plotting something against her..."

"Your point, Gisborne?"

Guy glanced at Robin's weary expression, then at the other outlaws who didn't seem interested in the least. No matter, at least the silence gave him freedom to speak his mind.

"My point" he unhurriedly put his sword away "Is this: Isabella _expects_ you to attack from two fronts. Why not surprise her and make it _three_? Two decoys, only one real threat, but her attention will be conveniently divided."

He got their attention now, though they were still looking skeptical.

"The first and most numerous party would be sent to the front gate – a bait too obvious for Isabella to take, of course. But then there'll be the second party - not more than ten men who would try to sneak past the guards by the western gate. With a bit of luck they'll get past it, attracting the guards' and Isabella's attention. When that's achieved, the third – and least numerous – group will slip right past the sheriff's nets and into the heart of the city." He reached for his sword in order to finish his work.

"You'll gain some time and avoid confronting too many guards that way" he added as an afterthought and turned his attention back to Damarin.

"Oh, and I suppose _you_ can get us into the castle unnoticed" Much snapped his fingers "like that?"

The corners of Guy's lips twitched, not quite forming a smile.

"I might just."

Robin's shadow moved closer to where Gisborne sat: Gisborne, the former master-at-arms – Gisborne, the outcast though now the center of the outlaws' attention. The unexpected ally.

"Tell us" he heard Robin ask.

Taking a breath, he raised his head to meet the confused and focused gazes of the band.

"There is a way of which Isabella knows not. A way leading from the confines of Sherwood right to the castle's Main Hall. A tunnel" he couldn't help a satisfied smile. "A _secret_ tunnel."

**oOoOoOo**

Deep shades of red reflected from her goblet as she sipped the aged wine absently. The night had always been her favorite time for musings. Darkness tended to attract thoughts that cowered before the bright daylight, daring them to come out when the sun has set. She used to fend them off, dreading the terrifying images, fearing them. But with time she has learned to accept them; more still, to _adapt_ her mind to them. Not being able to escape them, she made those haunting thoughts her allies. Companions in crime and in rule, in revenge and in suffering; they were everywhere, shadows of the past.

Yes, Isabella considered herself fearless.

She tipped the goblet to the side, letting one ruby drop fall to the ground. As it shattered, the blackened thoughts spoke, forming a sinister emptiness at the brink of her attention.

She had been deserted by everyone, hated by everyone. Her father (_I erased his image from my mind after the fire_), her mother (_she would never leave me intentionally_), the devil of a brother (_his only virtue is that he's dead_), servants from Gisborough (_no, I never cared for them much in the first place_), and then Robin Hood, who promised her the life that she so longed for. At first he promised her the wonderful love, the protection – and left her to fend for herself the next moment, just like all the others. And why? Because of that... _that_...

Clang! The goblet shattered against the opposite wall. The wine dripped down the stones, forming a puddle like freshly spilled blood on the floor.

No! They will pay. All of them. And _he_ will pay a hundred, a _thousand _times over! She'll make him writhe with pain until he begged for mercy, and then stab him in the heart, just like he had stabbed her. It will be delicious, oh, _so_ delicious to drown a deadly blade in that deceitful, cold blooded–

"What can milady be thinking, I wonder?" a voice flowed out of nowhere, interrupting her train of thought. "And could a humble man help with her sorrows?"

Isabella looked around frantically, searching for the person whom the voice belonged to; none could be seen.

"Who is there?!" she called, instinctively reaching for her hidden dagger when she remembered she'd left it back in her chambers. Suddenly feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, she stood up from the sheriff's chair to look around the hall once more.

"I order you to show yourself!"

She caught movement with the corner of her eye. All of a sudden a piece of tapestry on the opposite wall pulled back, and a man appeared from behind it. He was neither hooded nor cloaked; he wasn't wearing a sword or a dagger... not a one she could see anyway.

"Who are you?" she whispered, squinting her eyes in the scanty light to see better. The newcomer however moved away from the torches, hiding at the far end of the Main Hall, where shadows lingered in abundance.

"I'm Milady's most humble servant, though Milady may have never seen me." He said with a low bow.

Isabella regarded his silhouette for a moment.

"You must be the spy I have in the city..." She said slowly. "But how did you get in? The doors are locked and guarded and the hall is situated too high for you to have climbed through a window..."

She stopped her musings when the shadow started laughing. It wasn't a kind of laughter that made your skin crawl, neither was it the sign of pure content and joy; it was completely hollow, devoid of any emotion.

"One hears many things Milady...queer things, interesting things. Things that may prove to be of great worth, if put to a good use..."

He trailed off, and Isabella couldn't help but encourage him to continue. "Go on" she said, sitting back in the sheriff's chair. "What things does 'one' hear?"

There came a sigh from the other end of the hall.

"Legends, Milady. Legends of ancient castles, chambers without doors and... Secret passages. I have come by a fascinating piece of information which – as of tonight – I declare as true. You see, there is a secret tunnel, leading from Sherwood to the castle... right into the Main Hall (_which is how I came here_). Moreover, a tunnel of which existence Robin Hood's outlaws know of. They are planning to use it today, when the sun rises."

Isabella dug her fingernails into the polished wood. Outlaws? They weren't as smart as that! And Hood... how could he know of a passage that even she, the sheriff, didn't know about? How could it be?! Or was the spy simply lying to her for some unknown reason...?

"How did you find out about this?" she asked, trying to hide her suspicion.

The man raised his hands, indicating innocence. "Please, Milady, informers reveal their sources to no one. It is the foremost rule of my _noble _profession."

Isabella opened her mouth to protest, but at the same moment the crowing of a rooster could be heard somewhere in the distance. The sky was painted the light color of blue, heralding the close coming of dawn.

"The time is running short" the man commented. Turning back to him Isabella could see a vague outline of his figure in the dawning light. "All I will say is this: Beware that, which is thrice repeated; beware the things hidden close; and most importantly, let a king guard what could be your downfall."

The darker shadow moved and Isabella understood that he wanted to walk away.

"And how can I know you're not lying?" she asked the most pressing question on her mind.

The tapestry was pulled back by a hand invisible to her eyes.

"A fair question, Milady. A fair question indeed..."

The man disappeared behind the richly embroidered material. Darkness welcomed him like an old friend; like a part of itself. The sheriff heard his last words coming from within the castle's confines, hauntingly muffled and distorted.

"_Believe only what you see with your own eyes_..."

When the voice died away in the distance, Isabella quickly returned to her usual, reasonable self. _Who_ was that? She didn't remember hiring any such person...

With a few quick steps, she was at the other side of the hall, pulling back the tapestry and encountering... a small door, which opened easily when lightly pushed. A cold breeze brushed the loose strands of her ebony tresses from her face. So the man told the truth after all...

She didn't dare to wander into the tunnel on her own, when the morning light hasn't yet reached the castle's windows and most of the building was still enfolded in darkness. Other than that, there were so many things running through her mind right now...

The plan, Robin Hood, taxes, the trap, Locksley's fire, Prince John's demand to send him more men... and Robin Hood. The man who could very well be sneaking through the blasted tunnel in this very moment! It would be simply _delicious_ to catch him, but couldn't she turn the situation a little more to her advantage?

And what did the spy say?

Isabella walked the whole length of the hall, repeating the words in her mind until she knew them by heart, and all the while pondering over their meaning.

Thrice repeated... _thrice._.. things hidden close... _hidden close_...a king should guard my downfall... a king should... _a king_...

"RODNEY!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, not minding the early hours. She paced the Main Hall, and with each echoing step the sudden ideas began to form and take the shape of a plan. 'It might work. We still have some time...' she repeated this to herself over and over again, until the shaking of her hands ceased, and her voice grew steady. When five minutes later Rodney came running into the hall, she was already the image of cold composure, ready to give out orders and defend the castle from Robin Hood and his accursed outlaws.

**oOoOoOo**

Thanks to Guy of Gisborne procuring a plan (which was hailed as 'fairly good')Tuck, Little John, Allan, Much and Kate could get over four hours of good sleep, while the outlaw prince and his newfound ally talked through the idea, making sure it had no weak points. In the end - and due to the very late (or rather very early) hour - even they decided to use some rest.

But, as it usually happens at such times, it was already time to get up before they could fall into that blissful state of unconsciousness. Robin leapt up from his bedding upon seeing the early rays of the sun, filtering through the leaves above the camp, but Guy had to get up in a more civil manner, for the wound below his heart that started to ache again. He said nothing to no one, trying not to think about the pain as he moved around, preparing all the things required for the mission he was about to perform.

The outlaws did not welcome him into their ranks, though after he provided them with a plan (and so with four hours of rest before a hard day) they seemed somehow more accepting towards him. He had been given a spare bunk near the hearth (while he didn't expect more than to sleep on the ground), and a warm meal in the morning (he used all the energy he had left not to devour his portion – did they say it was _squirrel?_ – while trying to remember the last time he'd eaten something decent). That wasn't the way enemies acted.

When he was preparing a makeshift bow ('_one could always use a second weapon'_) Little John gave him a spare quiver and a few good arrows without uttering a word. Before Guy could formulate some form of thanks, a water-skin was thrown at him by Allan, who only winked at him mischievously and then disappeared somewhere. A few minutes before they set out he managed to exchange a few words with Tuck, who appeared to be the only one in the camp with no prejudices against him. Even the straw-haired man (_Much, he corrected himself_) seemed to treat him with less suspicion. Only the woman... Alice? Rose? No, Kate – remained ostentatiously hostile. But – as he understood from the quarrel that broke out during breakfast – she was to stay behind and far from danger. They'd appoint her with some minor task: passing on messages, gathering people, tending to the wounded – in other words, the things that Meredith would've done, had she not been sent to Hucknall with the women and children.

_Meredith._

He allowed himself to think about her for a blissful moment when they were riding through Sherwood, accompanied by a cold morning chill.

_Meredith_. He breathed the misty air, remembering every small detail about her that his imagination could muster; and there were many.

Her golden hair, flowing softly and cascading down her back in what seemed like waves of liquid honey; her eyes, emerald like the forest and the deep sea – warm, yet mesmerizing ; her lips, bow-shaped, with the ever-present smile lingering at the corners, and so delicious...

He gave a long, quiet sigh.

...The lips which could utter words of passion and conviction, all of them spoken from the heart. Her compassionate heart that he so admired. The courageous but unthinkably fragile heart that he wished nothing but to defend, keep safe, and cherish...

...For as long as he lived, or even longer.

All of a sudden he remembered his dream from a few nights ago. A clear, azure lake; a city that lay under the glassy waves; the people - all the people he knew, walking its far-away streets; the colored sky, the white island and the lady–

A sudden realization struck him. That was it! In the depth of that lake he could only see those whom he remembered and carried in his memory as friends; Hood, Carrey, Vaisey – none of his enemies of that time were present within the queer city. The memories he carried... in his heart... The dark lake, the cold waves... it must've symbolized just that: _his heart_. And the lady that dived willingly into the water – Guy's countenance brightened at the memory – it was _her_. And the waves welcomed her, danced around her form as if they _wanted _her to meet them. As if _he_ wanted her to meet him.

But as soon as his senses registered this new discovery, one word stopped the wave of elation that was threatening to flood his mind.

_War_.

And with it came imprisonment. Bloodshed. Suffering. Death.

His face fell; his expression becoming grim and focused once more. Were the seven miles that separated Hucknall from Nottingham enough to keep her out of harm's way? Did anyone know she was among the villagers' wives? And what if something happened to her on the way?

They arrived at the south-western borders of Sherwood, about half a mile from the place chosen for an assembly point. In the distance they could see the faint glimmer of a few fires lit by the villagers and members of the Order, who were waiting for the battle.

"This is where we part ways, my men" said Robin with a short sigh. "Pass the instructions to everyone and don't ever let yourself be discouraged. Tuck" he turned to the monk who rode just ahead of him. "Brother Bard will find you. When he does, tell him of our plan. He'll know what to do."

The outlaws exchanged silent glances, as if wanting to say their good-byes but dreading it at the same time. At last Little John exclaimed 'We are Robin Hood', and they all repeated it after him, small smiles lighting up their serious faces.

Then, without any further farewells, they rode off in two opposite directions: Tuck and Little John heading east, guided by the fires, while Guy, Robin, Allan and Much headed west.

When they were passing Locksley, Guy had to use all of his willpower not to ride right up to John Silverneedle's house and check on Meredith, just to see her one more time...

"They've already moved out" stated Robin, seeing the multiple cart tracks on the muddy road. He turned to Allan, who had still to receive his instructions. "Ride after them and look around for any sign of danger. Catch up with them, see if all is in order, then come back, find Tuck and report to him. Is all clear?"

"Clear as sunshine" grinned Allan, turning his steed to the northern road and soon disappearing in the distance.

Robin and Much observed yet another of their friends take off into the unknown, but Guy of Gisborne did not look that way. His gaze rested on the village of Locksley, or rather on what was left of it. He paid no heed to the damages done by the fire when he passed this way yesterday, but now, seeing it all in bright daylight made his heart fill with anger and dread. Anger towards the thoughtless arsonist, and fear for what the future might bring. It was a blank page to him now, ready to be filled with the story Providence had in store for him. Again, he thought of Meredith.

Wasn't it only foolish to hope that they would both get out of this war alive? And wasn't it even more foolish to wonder whether she could, someday... whether they could...

No, he wouldn't dwell on it. Bard told him that if he was to come out of this war alive, he'd be considered a member of the Order, like his father before him. He'll be on the right side this time; he'll fight to defend the only place he would've ever thought of calling home. Indeed, this battle was the only chance he had to redeem himself in the eyes of the world.

He took a last glance at what once used to be _his_ village and _his_ manor. He suddenly remembered so many things that happened here, good and bad, so many people and memories... then decidedly pushed the sentimental thoughts (_where did _those_ come from?_) to the back of his mind.

"Come on, it's time" he called to Robin and Much, turning his steed towards the southern road. "Follow me."

They rode in perfect silence for a few minutes; there was no wind and even the birds ceased their singing. The forest was waiting.

They turned further south, passing the smaller groves and riding through the high grasses. When they'd reached the burial ground, Guy dismounted and led Solomon to the other side, while the other two tethered their horses to the nearest tree. Gisborne unstrapped his steed's saddle, took off the bridle and reins and set the horse loose, whispering something in its ear before walking back to join his companions. Solomon trotted off into the woods, and when Guy looked his way again, he was only an ashen-grey spot among the deep greenery.

"You've let such a magnificent beast go?" Robin sounded half-surprised, half-disappointed. "Why?"

'_Because we all need and deserve freedom_' thought Guy strapping Damarin to his hip, but aloud he said: "I have no further need for him."

Without waiting for a reply, he began his search for the grave with a fallen cross, underneath which lay the entrance to the tunnel. While he was searching, his mind was occupied with repeating one by one all stages of the plan, along with even the smallest details. Their biggest strength and greatest advantage was their secrecy, and so far everything seemed to be going according to his plan.

'_There it is._' he spotted the grave a few paces away and called Robin and Much to him. They removed the stones with which the grave was covered and slid the wooden cover open, revealing the steep steps and a deep darkness below. Much commented on the unreliability of the construction, but Robin silenced him with a look and walked into the underground without a second thought. Guy went in as second, not caring to wait for Much who, after a momentary hesitation followed the two, plunging into the oppressive darkness.

Robin told him to light the torches they'd brought with them, and soon a long, narrow corridor appeared before their eyes. Water dripped from the low ceiling, forming puddles along the entire length of the floor which seemed to shimmer like ice in the torchlight.

"There are only three turns" said Guy, who was walking a few steps behind Robin. "The first, left one, leads to a dead end. So does the second one. The third, right turn, leads to the castle's lower kitchens. But if we go straight on, we'll reach the winding stairs and walk right into the Main Hall."

"Isn't that a bit too simple for a labyrinth?" asked Much, looking around anxiously. "Wouldn't anyone find his way through?"

Guy couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"It's a mind game. Vaisey's idea. People are very predictable. If you bar their way twice, then most of them won't try it the third time."

"And what if they _do_ try?"

They passed the first turn and Much couldn't help but look that way, into the impenetrable dark. The sudden cold breeze from the main corridor sent shivers up his spine and he quickly looked away, picking up his pace.

"Well... then they'll come across an obstacle. Positively impassable. Ten paces before they reach the kitchen door there is a trap, easily triggered and unable to disarm from the outside."

"Also Vaisey's idea?" asked Robin with a tinge of amusement.

Guy grinned wolfishly.

"No, that was one of my own."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, listening to the echoes of their footsteps, and the sound of water droplets dripping from the stone ceiling.

"How long does it take to get to the castle?" asked Robin when they passed the second turn.

"Not long now."

About a minute later they heard Much muttering something under his breath.

"What is it?" they said simultaneously, turning to the straw-haired man. An impulse of fear passed their hearts when they saw his raised hand and a queer expression.

"Lights" he mumbled. "Moving lights. Ahead."

Guy turned back just in time to see three green lanterns disappearing at the other end of the corridor.

"It's a trap!" He yelled, drawing his sword. "Robin–"

But his voice was drowned in a deafening clatter of metal against stone. The ground shook, and before they could realize what was going on, two walls of steel fell swiftly from the slits in the ceiling, separating them from each other. Robin was trapped between the contraption and the rest of the corridor leading to the castle, Much between the exit in the burial ground and the other steel wall, while Guy... Guy was caught in the middle.

The small space resonated with the horrible clatters and clangs, shooting needles of pain through his head and ears. The noise died down after a few seconds, and all he could hear were the muffled voices of Much and Robin, who had been trapped on the other sides. He took a deep breath, trying to think calmly. At least _they_ had the means to escape.

He looked around, seeing no weak points in the trap. Levering up either of the steel barriers would be pointless; the blasted things had to weigh at least a ton each.

The only thing he could do now was wait.

"Follow the corridor to the Main Hall!" he yelled, hoping that Robin could hear him. "There are a few alcoves in which you can hide, if needed. I'll think of something..."

_I will _have to_ think of something. _

Suddenly one of the stone walls opened, revealing a shadowy pass.

_What the...?_

A low, piercing rumble echoed in the small space. The sound of careful, heavy steps followed.

Two eyes flashed in the semi-darkness. A moment later the predator entered the circle of dim light.

Guy's heart seemed to stop beating.

"_Dear God..._"

He was standing eye to eye with the king of all beasts; the magnificent and invincible _lion_.

* * *

**!Please do take a moment to read this author note!**

**A/N: Sorry for the late update, but I suddenly decided that the ending needed a bit o' re-drafting, so I had to... unexpectedly...change a couple of things. Sorry again, and thanks for your patience! If you have any questions, constructive criticism or own ideas, now's a good time to either leave a review or PM me about it ;) Some of your ideas may be included in the story (along with a reference to the person who gave it) :)**

**Oh, and one more thing: ****I've decided to give a free one-shot to whoever my 100th ****reviewer is... If the story ever gets that far ^^ Basically I'll make a mention of this person and ask them what they want (a 'Robin Hood', ' The Hobbit', 'LOTR' or 'North and South' one-shot - the choice is yours) and post it a week later. Of course it would have to be within the bounds of what I do/don't do (check out my profile for more info). So, what do you guys think? :)**

******PS: If you're wondering where the lion had come from, there is a scene with it in season 3 ep. 5 ('Let the games commence'). Well, in my story it has been kept in the castle's underground since then :) **

******Disclaimer: Do I own RH BBC? A clue; _No_.**


	29. Chapter 29: Keep to the road

**A/N: I know I was supposed to update on the 19th, but this is a short chapter and the next one will be complicated enough without adding this part, so... here you go and I do hope you enjoy! Oh, and I _will_ update on the 19th, don't worry ;) Btw, thanks for all the lovely reviews! It's so great to see what you guys think, so please, if you have any questions, ideas, comments, constructive criticism etc. - bring it on, I'll take anything! :)**

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Gathering the people from three different villages had taken her the whole evening and most of the following night. Kael didn't use much rest during that time, as his owner rode from one village to another, trying to pass the news and instructions on to the most trusted people, at the same time keeping it all a secret from the sheriff's guards and the omnipresent gossips. The task had become fairly impossible to handle in just a few short hours after Guy's departure. But then again, Meredith was known for her ability to gracefully bypass the obstacles that stood in her way. She was... well, she was _Meredith_, honest and straightforward Meredith, and people tended to trust her.

That was the main reason (except for the huge amount of so-called luck) why the whole endeavor went according to the plan. The efficiency of the preparations surprised even Meredith, for she had thought that the moment the word 'WAR' resounded among the peasants, a common panic would ensue; no such thing happened. The villagers and their families took in the news with little more than a slight shock, most of them agreeing to remove the women and children to Hucknall for the sake of safety. The number of those who protested against such a scheme was scarce. The hearts of men beamed with the deep love for their hard-won land, and the families that needed protecting; anyone could see the determination in their eyes, the bright promises and hopes which none dared to utter aloud. The decision had been made: Nottingham would meet danger head-on, prepared as best as possible.

Nearly an hour before dawn the female and juvenile parts of Locksley, Nettlestone and Clun were already gathered, packed and ready to move out. Dozens of carts and wagons stood waiting on the muddy road, while the last preparations were being made. Meredith circulated among the crowd, giving out the last instructions and making sure everything had been taken care of properly. While walking her last circle around the site, she was joined by Meg, who had been acting like a displeased child all night long. The eighteen-year-old seemed to be doing everything in her might to hinder Meredith from the task appointed to her, and it did no good to soothe the woman's strained nerves; even _her_ resilience to criticism had its boundaries.

"You shouldn't be moving around that much, silly; you're not yet fully recovered!" Meg commented with a sour face when Meredith stumbled over something in her path. Her older cousin gritted her teeth, either to stifle the hiss of pain (which was how Meg saw it) or to bite back an unpleasant retort. Instead, and with a great effort, she forced her tone to sound mild.

"Meghan, if you would please–"

"You'll catch your death, mark my words, and then everyone would blame ME for not taking better care of you!" the red-head chattered on, flailing her arms about in frustration. "Did you ever notice how many misfortunes you carelessness has caused you?"

"Meg, I really think that–"

"Oh, I should've never gone to the festivities!" she shook her head ruefully. "You shouldn't have either, of course, but that's an entirely different–"

"For once, Meg, just be quiet and listen to what_ I_ have to say!" cried Meredith with a voice that brooked no argument. Her cousin's mouth closed with a snap; even some of the onlookers fell silent.

"If you think I'm going to suffer one more word of your complaining, then you are mistaken." the woman's eyes darkened with irritation. "I couldn't have loved you more if you were my own sister, but it is high time that you let _me_ make _my _own decisions. _Me_, for it is _my_ life: _mine_ and _not_ yours. If you want to be treated like an adult, act like one! Take the responsibility for your mistakes and do _not_ abandon them in order to treat the faults of others!"

Meg was so shocked with this sudden outburst that it took her a moment to gather her wits. When she regained the ability to speak, Meredith has already marched off to tell the villagers to move out.

The goodbyes had been said and one by one the carts rolled onto the road, until the village emptied completely. Only then did Meredith mount her steed and ride after them, at the very end of the caravan, to make sure none of the wagons deviated from their course. Meg hopped onto one of the last carts to take care of the children from the orphanage and keep them company. She didn't speak much, still offended with what her cousin had said.

Meg knew well that if not for Meredith, her present freedom wouldn't have existed at all. Each time she came to her with a problem, her cousin would solve it or at least talk with her until she had either forgotten about it or came up with the solution herself. That day when she found out she was to be married to a miller's son, she ran to the woodland hut and cried for over two hours until the anger was nearly gone. Meredith sat with her the whole time, and when the crying had stopped she explained to Meg how arranged marriages worked, and that the miller's son was an honest, hard-working boy, a good material for a husband. When Meg had rebelled against the whole idea of marriage, Meredith decided to travel all the way to Lenton, to her uncle's house, and get him to give the girl at least a few more years before she would tie the knot. By some unexplainable miracle Rodric had agreed, and since then Meg had been given a little more freedom. All thanks to the irreplaceable Meredith, whom she adored probably even more than her own mother. She had always wanted to be like her, to walk like her, talk like her, have her golden heart and strong spirit. And how did that turn out?

Meg kicked the side of the cart irritably. Oh, it turned out just _splendidly_, didn't it? She was spoiled, yes, and had a quick temper. She never knew her place, acted without thinking and was often disrespectful for no reason. Meg knew all that and strived to fight against her impulses, yet still her fiery spirit tended to get out of control. Just like now: of course Meredith was right, and _of course_ she was _always_ right, but in spite of that fact Meghan's mouth just wasn't able to form the words of an apology.

So she just sat there, surrounded by the orphans who, knowing or at least suspecting something bad has happened, left her alone and didn't bother her more than usual.

While Meg sat sulking, a few yards behind her cart Meredith rode in perfect silence, focused on the road ahead of her. There were less than seven miles to Hucknall, so the whole journey wouldn't take more than three hours at the most. They would not stop, not until they rode out of Sherwood's shadow, which seemed to follow them, stretching out its murky paws to draw them into its depth. Then again, maybe it was just her imagination. Nothing that dwelled in this forest could do them any harm. Neither man nor beast would touch them if they kept to the road.

She turned in her saddle at the sudden sound of hooves. About a dozen men clad in silvery-grey robes rode out of the western half of the woods, all of them armed and hooded. Her first impulse was to raise an alarm, but then she remembered that she'd seen a cloak just like that yesterday, when Guy visited her in Locksley. It calmed her a little, and when they drew level with Kael, she had already managed to make her voice sound more confident than she really felt.

"You must be the men sent from the Order?"

The tallest man, who must've been the riders' leader, nodded and pulled off his big hood. He had short, light hair and dark eyes that were very much capturing in their intelligent expression. Meredith felt as though she'd seen that face before, but she quickly shook if off, attributing the feeling to the lack of sleep and rest during the past two days. It was probably just another work of her unbridled imagination. And yet...

"They couldn't spare more than a dozen. Otherwise we would've come in greater numbers," he said, indicating the men riding behind them. "We had hoped that more of us would come, but of course one has to take what he is given and use it as best as he can." Meredith heard the melodious, southern tone in his voice and felt her heart skip a beat with joy, despite the rather grim circumstances.

"_Not an Englishman sir, I suppose?_" she asked in Welsh, her tone softening every so little.

The man shot her a surprised look, and then burst out with quiet laugher.

"_Dear Lord no,_"He replied, also in that tongue."_But how did you know–_"

"_Intuition. Your voice, sir, it sounds... home-like_" Meredith couldn't stifle a smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. So _that_ must be why the man seemed so familiar. "_For how long...?_"

"_Fifteen years_" he replied, understanding her question. "_I had been recruited to fight along with King Richard's men in the Holy Land._" He leaned a little closer in his saddle. "_And no more of that 'sir'. It's Geralt, son of Griff_. _And what did they call you, my lady, before you had come to England?_"

The woman also leaned in her saddle, and said with a proud smile:

"_Meredith, daughter of Maelgad and granddaughter of Isolt. I had come here... many years ago, too many to count..._"

"_Isolt?_" asked Geralt, furrowing his brow. "_Could it be Isolt of Kennelwood? Isolt the Beautiful?_"

"_The very one,_" said Meredith, her eyes alight. How many years did she long to have a proper conversation in her mother tongue? How long had she dreamt of talking to someone in Welsh?

"_Then you must be..._ Harddwch Hendygwyn_, Whitland's Beautiful One?_"

Seeing her lower her head and her cheeks color, he laughed heartily again.

"_I've heard about you – who hasn't? But for truth, a worthy descendant carries Lady Isolt's likeness!_"

But before Meredith could ask why he thought her name was so known, he called "Let us ride to the front" and the riders dispersed, leaving her alone with the man.

"_I am afraid I have duties to perform,_" he said, switching to Welsh again when they were gone. "_I would ask you to move further along the caravan. I believe it's not safe for you to stay at the very back_."

Meredith shook her head and smiled reassuringly at that.

"_Thank you for your concern, but I wish to have a view of _all _the carts. I'll be fine here_."

Geralt gave a short sigh. "_Fel y dymunwch_," he replied, before taking her hand in his and pressing a light kiss on her pale skin. Meredith tried not to blush, but her cheeks reddened furiously despite her best efforts.

"_It was a pleasure to talk to you. I'll send someone to accompany you during the journey_."

With that, he spurred his steed on, and soon disappeared between the carts and specks of people in the distance. Meredith was left alone. Though she didn't feel alone in the least; she had just had a wonderful conversation with a fellow countryman, and hearing her mother tongue was like a sweet balm for her nerves. Home didn't feel so far away anymore.

Geralt, son of Griff... he must've been born somewhere near Whitland... she was sure to have heard tenderness creep into his voice when he was saying the name... yes, she should definitely ask him about it...

And then her thoughts floated straight back to Guy of Gisborne, for a reason she did not understand. Did he have a home? He must've had it once, but now... it too was hard to imagine the tall, ominous man surrounded by family and friends. He had a sister, Isabella, who they were now trying to fight against... like the world wasn't complicated enough... and she had once heard that both of his parents died in a fire many years ago, after which he and Isabella were driven out of Locksley... it was a small wonder he turned out like this...

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted. She caught a flash of yellow and black with the corner of her eye. Then came another and another, like colorful specks of light against Sherwood's shadow. The next moment she thought she had noticed a glint of steel. Soldiers, _here_?

"_Aros yma,_" she pulled Kael's reins to a halt and dismounted. "Walk after the carts, understand?" she said, giving him a light pat on the head. The horse turned and followed the last wagon obediently, as though his rider was still in the saddle and holding his reins.

Meredith looked around warily and walked into the shadowy forest, quick and silent like a breath of wind on the plains.

But five carts to the front, Meg spotted slight movement at the back of the caravan. A few seconds later, and to her utter confusion, Meredith disappeared from sight, walking decidedly into Sherwood's green depth.

'_What is she doing?_' Meg squinted her eyes to see better, but the impenetrable wall of trees hindered her sight. '_She cannot be wandering off alone!_'

"Wait here, alright lads?" the children looked at her, surprised when she moved to hop off the wagon. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Where ye goin' miss?" asked a fair-haired boy who sat on her left.

"I think I've... lost something on the way. I'm just going to run back and find it. Wait here until I come back, yes?"

_Lying to children: just perfect_. But they must've believed her, for they nodded and were soon talking and laughing between themselves again. No one would notice her absence.

The girl hopped off the wagon and moved to the side of the road, waiting for the carts to pass her before quickly slipping into the forest. She spotted Meredith just about a hundred yards away, moving quietly and hiding behind tree trunks every now and then. '_What in the world is she up to?_'

Meg followed her, moving less carefully but just as quickly through the thicket, so that in less than a minute they were separated by only a few paces. Meg was just about to walk out of her hiding behind a tall beech tree, when something rather disturbing caught her eye. A flash of yellow against black. And then she heard voices, tens of them, speaking in hushed but perfectly audible tones. She clung to the tree trunk, not daring to let out a breath and fearing that they would hear her. _Sheriff's soldiers_.

"We've got less than a mile till we reach Nottingham..." she caught a snippet of a conversation between two guards who passed her hiding place.

"A mile 'ee says! It be twice as much, methinks."

"How can ye be sure? Eh, Bert?"

"I know these parts. Lived 'ere my whole life, me did..."

The guards seemed not to have noticed either her or Meredith, and Meg let out a relieved sigh. Then a thought entered her mind: What if these men see the caravan of escapees? What would they do to them?

She looked in the direction of the road, but fortunately the trees were so thick and numerous that to see past them was nearly impossible. Letting out a breath, she gathered her courage to look back and search for the place where Meredith was hiding.

When she did, her eyes were instantly drawn to a great coal-black horse that passed just about a dozen yards away. But it wasn't the magnificent animal that drew her attention: It was the rider.

A horrified cry escaped her throat, and she instantly regretted ever walking into that forest. _They had heard. Oh God, they had heard her!_

The horseman shouted an order, and instantly a hoard of soldiers started in her direction; but Meg could only stand behind the beech tree, frozen in place, and look at her approaching doom.

A sudden pull at her arm shook her awake. The next thing she remembered was running alongside Meredith, running as fast as her shaking legs would allow her; running from both their deaths.

An arrow flew past them, missing Meredith's head by an inch. Three more followed, before another order was given, and no more arrows were shot in their direction.

Meg was just beginning to believe that they had outrun them, when a pair of very strong, mail clad arms wrapped around her middle like steel pincers, knocking the air out of her lungs. She heard Meredith's shouting, then saw two other guards holding down her hands as she struggled furiously against her captors. But Meg felt as if her mind was wrapped in cotton: She couldn't move her hands, her legs gave in and if not for the merciless grip of the guard who caught her, she surely would've fallen to the ground. She heard the shouting, though not the words; she saw the yellow and black clad figures moving past them; her senses registered all that, but her mind did not. All of her thoughts were bent on the black horse and his rider.

_Impossible. It was simply... impossible._

"Now let us see what _pretty little birds_ we've caught, shall we?" the icy cold voice seemed to be muffled by the layers of fear that began wrapping around Meg like a terrible, suffocating fog. Then she saw him: he was standing right in front of her, his face contorted in a disgusting grimace of self-satisfaction. A cold shiver ran up her spine, as though someone poured liquid ice down her neck.

One villain returned from the dead was enough to bear. Now there were _two_.

'_Hell spat him back out, did it?_' She thought with bitter amusement, before she felt herself slipping out of her captor's grasp and falling into the black abyss of oblivion.

* * *

**Welsh dictionary:** _Geralt_ - Welsh form of Old German words for 'Spear' and 'Rule'_; Harddwch Hendygwyn_ - The beauty of Whitland; _Fel y dymunwch _- As you wish; _Aros yma_- Wait here


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